


Nightingale

by honeynovella



Series: Nightingale [2]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - World War II, Angst and Tragedy, Anko Family (Hetalia), F/M, Historical, Historical Hetalia, M/M, Minor Character Death, Romance, World War II, dennor endgame
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-27
Updated: 2018-07-03
Packaged: 2018-09-02 16:11:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 93,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8673970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honeynovella/pseuds/honeynovella
Summary: The year is 1940. Europe is no longer safe for nineteen year-old farmer Mathias Køhler. In a desperate attempt to escape the ever-growing threat of invasion, he flees to Norway, where he meets a mysterious boy named Lukas Bondevik. Together, they work against the system to escape the ever-looming threat of death that hangs over their heads.If you're going through Hell, keep going.





	1. Prologue

**Prologue**

**Summer, 1929 — Belgium**

Every summer Mathias Køhler only did one thing: wait.

There were tons of things he could've been doing: running around the farm, splashing through the river, catching fireflies at dusk, or simply reading a good book. All of the other kids did that during the summer, except for him. He waited because at the end of July, Emma Mogens, his best friend, would return from her summer vacations and back to her mansion across the river.

Emma Mogens was a lovely little girl. Her family was rich and stingy but she was generous and kind. The Belgian girl had been Mathias's friend since he could remember. The two always spent days together, laughing and playing in the red barn that Mathias' family owned. When it got stormy and dark, they found shelter in the warm bundles of hay, and when it was too humid to even have a race they sat together cooling off in the stream. The hours were a blur of laughs, summer air, green eyes, and Emma's sweeter than honey laugh. Mathias's parents loved to tease him about Emma. "Oh, you two will be walking down the aisle one day, getting married," they would say. Mathias strongly denied that he held any feelings for her other than the fact that she was his best friend. Sure, she was extremely gorgeous even at a young age: her sandy blond hair that cascaded to her shoulders, that nose that scrunched up whenever she was near the hay, and those beautiful green eyes... Mathias had studied them many times, and while doing so he concluded that her eyes held the answers to the universe. 

Mathias knew she would break a lot of hearts, but he knew that his heart would not be one of them.

The parts of the summer that Emma was absent were the worst. He would lay down in front of the dark Grandfather clock and count the seconds until he got a headache. He had memorized the strokes of paint in the picture that hung in his parent's bedroom (there were two hundred and eighty three visible strokes), and he almost set the house on fire while he watched a candle burn. Summer without Emma was awful.

But the worst part was when school rolled back around. Emma attended a private academy in the city, where she was learning seven subjects. Mathias, on the other hand, was going to the same old school house he had gone to every year. It was a cozy building with only one room and a nun to teach, but Mathias hated it more than anything. It was small and cramped, no where to run around or play games inside. They only got one recess (which Mathias thought was absolutely outrageous), and the nun, Sister Maria Alexandra, was a very strict lady when she was teaching. Outside of class she was a terribly kind person, but if you stepped out of line while she was teaching it was the most regrettable thing you had ever done.

Mathias had been called out by her many times for being too jumpy. He got punished for bouncing his leg, tapping his fingers or toes, or looking out the small dusty window in that he was always seated next to. Sister would hit his palms so many times that he could barely hold his silverware when he got home for dinner. He didn't feel like there was anything wrong with him. Emma and his parents treated him like a normal kid; so why did everyone else say he had a messed up head?

School was too easy for Mathias; math and science came natural to him, and religion was the same thing every year (Jesus this, Jesus that... if the guy was so great how come he made Mathias all bouncy?). The only challenging subject was reading. The letters liked to move around and switch themselves up whenever he started reading books. The Bible was a spelling mess whenever he looked at a paragraph. Lucky for him, Sister only made the big kids read aloud to the class.

When he told Emma that the letters moved around, she had bounced and said, "My brother says that too! Well, he used to say that but my parents helped him by making him read a passage of this book called Ivanhoe everyday. He said it was an excellent book!" Mathias practically begged Emma if she could bring the book to the farm after school so they could read together. "Oh please Emma! If I don't fix it, it'll just get worse! The kids at school will tease me forever." Emma had giggled and patted his messy blonde hair, saying, "There, there." She promised that at night she would sneak into her brother's room and take it. "I'll bring it to the barn after school ends okay?"

When school had ended, she had brought a basket along with the book Ivanhoe tucked under her shoulder. Mathias had eagerly crawled over to the hand-woven basket, curious as to what was inside. But Emma, determined not to let him see, instructed that he read to her three passages before he got to see what she brought.

"Three passages?!" he had protested. "I thought you said your brother only had to read one a day!" Emma nodded at that, not willing to answer any further. "So why are you making me read three! That's not fair!" Emma nodded again, but this time she spoke up. "You are smart and you pick things up faster than most. I'm making you read three because I know you can. Now go on, tell me what the first page says."

While Emma had smoothed out her yellow dress and nestled herself in the hay, Mathias opened to the first page and started to read. It was a mess of letters and words; the e's were backwards, the v's were upside down and the o's were rolling off the page. Why did they move around for him but not for anyone else? Once his eyes had landed upon a word, it moved around, making it extremely hard for him to keep a good pace. He read aloud but it wasn't smooth at all. Emma, upon hearing his struggle, decided to help him where help was needed. "That's 'bird', not 'birb'," she said. "My brother used to do the same thing. Try to focus, and don't let the letters move." Mathias gratefully let her point out his errors; she had said that they were quite common and that he was doing an excellent job for his first time reading aloud. Mathias would've continued onto a forth passage if Emma didn't tell him to stop.

"See," she had said opening her basket. "That wasn't too hard with my help." She pulled out two still-warm waffles and handed one to Mathias. He had smiled and took it from her, indulging in it immediately. "These are my mom's recipe. She used to make them when she lived in the city. People paid a lot just to get their hands on one of these," she said, mouth full of waffle. After Mathias finished his he held out his hand to Emma. "Thank you, very much," he said as he lifted her to her feet. She was taller than Mathias by a few centimeters, but it didn't bother him the slightest. "Hey, I'll race you to the church."

Emma had paused, her lips pinching in thought. "Hmm... Okay blondie, you're on."

Mathias had smiled and got in the set position. "On your mark-"

"GO!" Emma shouted as she started to run. Mathias quickly following. "Hey you started too soon!" She only laughed and let her legs push her faster, her yellow dress flowing behind her.

Mathias knew the rest of his days with his best friend would be perfect. After all, what could possibly go wrong?

...

**January 2nd, 1940 — Belgium**

Emma was getting extremely close to losing it.

Abel, her extremely protective older brother was being a douchebag as usual, and giving her a hard time about seeing her best friend, Mathias. It's not like she hadn't been visiting him since she was a small child; her and Mathias had spent days together when they were little. The two had grown up together, almost inseparable. She was eighteen now, an adult so why was Abel making a huge deal about her visiting?

"I'm just running over to say hello. You didn't let me see him yesterday so now he's probably lonely," Emma said tying her red ribbon into her hair. It had been a present from her one of her former boyfriends, but she still wore it everyday. "He doesn't get a lot of company you know."

Abel just rolled his green eyes that were identical to hers. "I'm sure he's just fine. You must have more important things to do than talk to that puppy dog all day. Why don't you go make a real friend like mom and dad want you to?"

Emma huffed and walked down the hallway, Abel following suit. She turned into her room, throwing clothes out of her way in search for her bag. "You know I don't like to talk to girls. They're so judgemental and full of themselves. _Oh does my hair look okay? Is there anything in my teeth?_ If they care so much about their appearance why don't they make sure it's perfect before they go out in public?" Emma sensed Abel rolling his eyes. She spent a moment more searching for her bag before he found it hidden beneath a blue skirt. She straightened herself up and faced her brother again.

"Mom and dad are going to force you to go to a girl's academy if you don't start socializing with girls," he said. Emma only laughed and walked to her brother, patting his shoulder. "Now where on earth did you get that silly idea? You know that I don't need anymore years of school, that'd be absurd." Abel shook his head. "They're gonna force you to go to college-"

Emma interrupted with, "College should be the least of their worries with everything going on. This country is a mess; no one is worried about education. They won't be sending me anywhere because I already used their school fund to pay for a plane ticket to America, where at least it's safe and stable." Abel's eyes became wide, his heart seemed to stop. "You did what?" he asked in a harsh whisper. Emma had said too much. She started past him, out of her room when he took her arm and pulled her back in, shutting the door behind him. When he turned, his eyes held pure anger.

"Em, what were you thinking?! There is no way you're going to America, no way in hell! Oh God, you and that stupid singing dream of yours... This has gone too far!" he shouted. Emma only felt a slight twinge of fear. This was her brother, he wouldn't do anything to hurt her.

"Brother just listen! I-"

"Don't tell me to listen! You and your stupid fantasies that that boy has put into your head. He's the reason you're leaving, isn't he? He was the one who told you all about those silly Broadway shows." For a second, Emma was sure he would explode. He had never liked Mathias before, and this was just making it even worse. It was true, Mathias had told her all about Broadway. He told her about the stage lights that looked like stars, and the actors who preformed such beautiful songs, it could bring a person back from the dead. He himself hadn't gone to America (his parents had) but he knew all about it. "You have the most beautiful voice Emma. You should be on Broadway, singing and dancing," Mathias had said when they were about fifteen. And that's when she realized what her purpose in life was: she wanted to sing.

"Emma," he started, "I will not tell our parents about this. But you listen to me: you are never allowed to sing again. And you can kiss your little Mathias goodbye. I won't let him ruin my little sister, ever again." Abel then walked out of the room, his words still ringing in Emma's ears. She barely her the door shut, everything was muffled. "Never sing..." she whispered as she stared into nothing.

Tears fell over her soft cheeks and she fell into her bed. She knew Abel was lying, he had to be. He would never do this to her. She turned her face into her pillow to hide her oncoming sobs. If he told their parents that she was going to leave for America then she would never be trusted again. This can't be happening. It's my fault I'm such an idiot, she thought. And here I am crying like a little baby...

No, she had to do something about it. Her plans wouldn't be foiled because of her big scary brother. She sat up and rubbed viciously at her eyes. Standing and walking to her vanity, she started to put on her makeup, making sure to cover the redness under he eyes. She was going to Mathias' whether Abel liked it or not.

...

Mathias was lying down in the top floor of the barn, smoking a cigarette he had stolen from his father. Probably not the smartest idea in the world considering he was near some feathery, flammable chickens, but what did he care? He opened his highly flammable book to where a piece of cloth served as a bookmark. Ever since he had gotten over his problem with reading, he was obsessed with books. Emma had brought over all sorts of literature from her family library. Fictional, historic, biographies... he loved all genres. He was extremely immersed in Moby Dick as of now. This guy in the book was simply fixed on getting this whale. He was so lost in the pages that he almost didn't hear a high girly shriek and then a loud thud.

He walked over to the window where the noise had come from, his eyebrows coming together. He had his fists ready if he needed to fight any intruders. After he surveyed the are he shouted: "All right, show yourself!"

The head of Emma Mogens popped out of a haystack to his right. She wore a hat that covered her eyes as she tired to stand and walk out. Seeing her nearly fall, Mathias rushed to her side and helped her out, laughing as she stumbled. He looked down to see shiny red heels on her feet. "Well," he said, his hand still on her shoulder. She pushed her hat up and looked at him, dazedly for a second and then smiling after another. "Where are you going all dressed up?" he asked, taking in her choice of clothing. Ever since Emma turned thirteen, she had started becoming softer, and more woman-like. Curves had formed all over her and she knew how to rock them, for every boy she met immediately had a crush on her. She was wearing a yellow dress that was covered by a women's trench coat. Her hat was tan with her ribbon was tied around it. Mathias looked back at her face and-

"Are you wearing makeup? Is that red lipstick?" he asked. She pushed his hand away as he reached out to wipe it off. "Yes, it is makeup and I'd greatly appreciate if you didn't mess it up," she said. He laughed and backed up a step, still wondering why she was all dressed up. "You never answered my question, Em. Why're you dressed up? Gotta hot date or something?"

Emma shook her head. "No, I indeed do not. I came here because I have to tell you something very important before I leave." She lifted up a leather suitcase and Mathias's eyebrows came together. "Why-"

"I'm going to America!" she exclaimed, her green eyes bright with happiness. Mathias's happy attitude returned and he smiled. "Em! That's awesome! Aw, man your family will love it there. My parents told me so many great things-"

She cleared her throat and gave a sad little laugh. "Well, um, that's the thing," she said tilting her head and resting it on her shoulder. Her hair wasn't straight like usual. It was curled back, the way all women wore their hair these days. She looked up at him and gave a little shrug, saying, "I'm going by myself. I'm leaving them."

Mathias was paused, frozen in the moment. He opened his mouth to say something but she cut him off. "You can't say anything! If they ask where I am do not tell them. They'll come get me, and bring me back and..and I just can't take it anymore. This isn't where I belong." Mathias still had to say something; if she left Belgium, she left him too. "Emma, I can't just let you leave me, you're my best friend," he said. His blue eyes were wide and upset. "Was it something I did?"

"No! No, Mathias, God no. It's my brother and my parents. They're just so possessive and they're trying to make me into something I'm not. I'm not a business woman or a wealthy heiress. I don't want money, I just want to be free. That's what everyone in America is like; they're all free to do what they want-"

"Well I wouldn't exactly put it that way but why not wait until you're a bit older, yeah?" he suggested, hoping that Emma would give in and just wait. He didn't want to lose her just yet. She gave a sad laugh and shook her head. "There's so much tension nowadays..." Mathias knew what she was talking about. He nodded and let her continue. "I just can't stand it. I know being a neutral country won't be enough to keep them away." Them. Germany, the ever growing threat. Everyone knew something would happen. The question was, when? "And being a wealthy family will make us a target," she explained, her voice cracking only slightly. She seemed to be on the verge of tears but she kept going, clearing her throat before continuing. "It's not like we won't see each other again. I'm sure we'll meet in the future. Once I get my first performance onstage I'll get you a front row seat and and a plane ticket so you can come watch me sing."

Mathias sighed. Emma had a point. Besides the front row seats he knew she was right about Belgium not being safe. Her family would most definitely be targeted just because they were rich. And not to mention Abel... he would probably be forced to join the German military if they found him. He turned and walked towards his book, taking the bookmark out and holding it tightly in his hands. When he returned to Emma, he held the piece of cloth out to her. "I don't have anything fancy to give so just take this to remember me by," he said looking down. Emma's heart swelled. She reached out and took it from him, putting in safely in her coat pocket. She walked forward, two clicks of her heels, and fell against Mathias, her arms hugging him tightly. She was leaving her best friend, but now she could finally be free.

"How could I ever forget about you?" she asked. When she let go, she started down the stairs to the barn door. She took one last glance before walking out of the barn for the last time.

That night, Mathias watched as a plane flew over his house. He wondered if Emma would finally be happy.


	2. Exodus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **"The oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear, and the oldest and strongest kind of fear, is fear of the unknown" -H.P. Lovecraft**

**Part One**   
**March 1, 1940 - Belgium**

"Where the hell do you think you're going, you freak?!"

Mathias turned, swinging around the corner of the cobblestone church. Dust flew up behind him as his feet hit the ground, gradually gaining the speed he needed to outrun these guys. Golden sunlight beat against his back. He swiped his forehead and smiled; these guys had nothing on him.  
It seemed that everything had gone to hell since Emma left on that mild January day. 

On January third, Abel Mogens had come to his house demanding him to open up his door so that he could search the place for Emma. Of course, there was nothing to be found of the girl who had left to chase her dreams. The only thing Abel had found was a copy of the book Ivanhoe. He had held it up to Mathias and questioned, "Is this mine?"

Mathias had shaken his head and lied saying, "No that's Emma's. I believe she left it here while back."

Abel had nodded, tucking the book under his shoulder, then leaving (and hopefully never coming back). Mathias hadn't really minded the intrusion of his home, but he did mind that Abel had taken something that connected him to memories of his childhood. That book was one of the only things that still connected him to Emma and now it was gone, just like her.

With his savings, he had bought a radio. Everyone was always talking about how nice it was to listen to music as they read, or cleaned their homes. Mathias thought why the hell not, and took a trip to the nearest store he could find that sold radios. 

That night he had put the radio in the barn so that his parents couldn't use it; he had started twisting the knob and subconsciously tuned into an American station. He had sighed and turned off the radio, trying not to think of the girl with green eyes and that red ribbon in her hair.

He nearly fell as his foot hit a puddle of ice. Stupid winter. It was nearly March for Christ's sake, why was all this ice still around?

He looked behind him and sighed. There they were, the three idiots who had chased him out of the church. 

It wasn't his fault he wasn't singing, it was the stupid words. Why did they shake when he read them? Was his reading problem coming back? No, that would be ridiculous, it'd been gone for almost eight years. When he had tried to sing the words, his voice had faltered as the words trembled on the page. He paused for a moment when a man had nudged him, telling him to start singing or get out. 

Mathias had just rolled his eyes. 

Another moment passed and the man and closed his hymn book and politely asked if he thought that church was a joke to him. 

Shrugging, Mathias had replied, "Church isn't a joke but you look like you could be one." Probably not the best time to give attitude. The man had swung for Mathias' face but luckily Mathias had dodged and slid out of the pew quick enough to get a head start out of the church.

Mathias had no clue who the two other guys chasing him were but just figured they had appeared as he ran out of the building.

Mathias, now running short on breath, turned to look at the guys. He smiled mischievously. "Come on boys! Haven't you....ever heard of 'love thy neighbor...as thyself'?" he called to them in between heavy breaths. 

The man growled and started running faster. Mathias laughed quietly and almost didn't turn around in time to see a waist-high stone wall. He gasped and swung his legs over, landing steadily on his feet in ankle high green grass. He paused to look behind him but took too long. Barreling over the wall was his pursuer. 

Mathias only had a second to mutter a curse in Danish before the muscular man came crashing down on top of him. They tumbled, Mathias, struggling against this large man as his posse watched. He was too big, too strong for Mathias to even consider fighting. But it wasn't like he could change his mind now.

As Mathias was pinned down, he listened to what the man started saying. "You little shit. You thought you could run away. I'm gonna teach you a lesson for messing with me." Mathias tried to kick out, his fingers digging into his palm, and his heart beating fast. If only this iron grip would release him. Maybe then he would've been able to get out before the man swung his fist down and everything went black.

…

Mathias kicked a stone along the dirt road that led towards his house. His eye was swollen purple and his lip was cut. He had just barely been able to wake himself up after that massive beating those guys had given him. He was tired, and his head felt like someone had jam-packed marbles into his skull so tightly he felt he would burst. 

It was Sunday, which guaranteed two things: a nice dinner and his father would be home.

"Stupid church," he mumbled as he turned onto his parents' property. The barn's red paint shone vibrantly through the mounds of melting snow, and the grass was a sludge of brown and green. He didn't like the color green anymore. He sighed and ran a hand through his greasy, gravity-defying blonde hair. He couldn't seem to get a break these days. And now he had to see his parents. It wasn't that Mathias hated his parents—nothing like that at all—it was just for weeks now, every time they sat together, the only thing they talked about was the rising dangers of one of their country's neighbor: Germany. 

His father would talk about the things he heard at work. "Britain is having none of them, and neither is France. They're going to tear each other to pieces, just you watch," he would say. Mathias hated that kind of talk. He knew nothing would ever happen to him or his family. Their country was neutral and why would anyone want to do anything to his family? They barely had any money so what good would they be?

Mathias nearly tripped on his way into his house. His black eye was making it hard for him to see. The clanging of pots and pans made his mother's presence known to him. 

"Hi mom," Mathias called as he darted to the stairs, eager to hide his black eye. His mother didn't so much as wave back, for the radio was playing and she was busy dancing along to the music. 

English words floated through the kitchen and his mother's poor pronunciations became distorted as he strode down the hallway to his room. Mathias collapsed onto his bed, his arms splayed and his blue eyes full of tiredness. Winter was always his least favorite month, and now, it seemed as though the world was being plunged into hell. 

Why did this have to happen to him? Why couldn't he just have been born somewhere else, somewhere safe that was not a potential German target?

"Mathias!" his mother called from downstairs. Not a minute was he in his bedroom and he was already being pulled out. He groaned and lay for a moment before shouting, "Coming!" and sitting up and racing down the stairs.

His father, who most said Mathias resembled, was standing at the door hugging his wife. His father had the same sandy blonde hair, eye shape, and nose as Mathias. Mathias had inherited his blue eyes from his mother. A kiss on the cheek and off his mother went, leaving open arms for Mathias to fall into. He smiled at his father and let himself be pulled into a tight hug. 

"Good to see you, son," his father said in familiar Danish. His father paused and looked at Mathias' eye. For a second Mathias thought he would ask but instead, his father didn't so much as give his black eye a second glance. Mathias smiled and sighed in relief, and patting his dad's back, "It's good to see you too, dad."

Sundays always went like this. After hugs, kisses and short anecdotes of the day (Mathias' being him getting hit by a snowball and getting a black eye even though it was a lie), dinner was ready for the small family of three. Mathias' mom liked to make traditional recipes, which meant that they usually had the same three meals all the time. 

Mathias did not complain, however. He liked these meals that reminded him of his childhood and of summer. He liked how his mother would recall stories at the table of how he would finish meals so quickly he would be finished before his mother even sat down. Lucky for him, the only people in his family were him and his parents. No siblings to make fun of baby Mathias stories.

This dinner was going surprisingly well, uninterrupted by talk of war or anything like that. It was almost as though the Køhler family was back to normal. Well, they almost were until Mathias' father had turned to Mathias. 

"So, that radio doing you any good?" he asked, Mathias had nodded, stuffing the last bits of his dinner into his mouth. 

"Oh yeah," Mathias had replied with his mouth full of peas. He finished his food and turned to his father. "Lot's of nice songs. They're mostly in English but I speak the language."

"Since when did you speak English?" his father asked with a smile. Mathias shrugged, deciding it best not to tell them about all the English books that Emma had brought to him when they were children. 

Emma knew how to speak Dutch, English, German and French and decided one summer that she was going to teach Mathias one of the languages she knew. Mathias' English was not the best, but that didn't mean he was that bad. He was still learning, after all. "I just picked it up from the radio, I guess," he said in a dismissing tone. He wasn't lying either. Emma had tutored him, sure, but the Latin in the Bible school readings and Danish helped significantly.

"That's a good thing," his father said. After a moment of silence, Mathias looked up to see his parents exchanging looks. 

"What?" Mathias asked. "Is there something wrong?"

His mother hummed and leaned back in her chair before getting up and taking the plates from the table. "I think you should tell him, darling," she prodded before disappearing into the kitchen. Obviously, something was going on.

"What's she talking about?" asked Mathias, who was starting to become more worried. There couldn't possibly be anything happening. Everything was too perfect.

"Well, recently your mother and I have been thinking and... We came to the decision that we're going to be moving to Norway for the time being," his father started. "Now, don't be worried, it's all in good time. We just cannot live here anymore. It's too dangerous for us. Belgium is no longer safe."

Mathias gripped the side of the table, his eyebrows coming together in angry confusion. "What do you mean not safe?! The reason we moved here from Denmark is that it was safer here!" he protested. 

He was trying to sound like a reasonable adult, but his mind was whirling, and his stomach was doing flips. He couldn't leave this place. Never. He couldn't leave the Mogens, he couldn't leave the warm hay inside the barn, he couldn't leave the piles of books and the summers spent gazing into green eyes and playing in the golden sunlight. He could barely even remember a time when he hadn't lived in Belgium, how was he supposed to just move to a new country like he'd lived there his whole life?

"Mathias, you know why. We're right next to Germany and it's only a matter of time before we get dragged into this whole mess like Czechoslovakia and Poland. Didn't you hear what happened in January?" his father inquired. Mathias didn't want to remember January; the only thing he could remember was Emma and her final words of goodbye.

He shook his head and locked eyes with his father. "No. Enlighten me."

 

"A German plane landed here, in this country, a week before they planned to invade. You know that nun at the market? The one who came here from Germany? She's the one who told me that. Said her brother is still in Germany, serving like any man of his age, and he told her everything," he said. Mathias' father looked so intent on making him believe what he was saying, but Mathias couldn't fathom the words. Invasion seemed like something so far away.

"Well, we can't just leave!" Mathias said desperately. "You have a job, and mother and I have the house. And what about the Mogens? What will you say to them when they ask why we're leaving?"

His father dragged his hand down his cheek, making him look twenty years older. "I think we're the least of their worries right now," he said in no more than a whisper. "You and I both know that they're mourning the loss of Emma."

Mathias swallowed. "She's not dead," he said without thinking. Shit, he said to himself. His father, although, did not seem to notice. He only looked at Mathias sympathetically. Clearly, his father thought that Mathias was just in a state of denial, which was partly true. He knew that Emma wasn't dead but no one else did. 

"Right," his father said in a low voice. He straightened up and continued speaking, "They know it's not a loss of life, but it probably feels that way. I mean, one day she's here and one day she's—"

"Gone," Mathias finished for him. He rarely spoke about Emma with his parents anymore. Ever since she left he didn't like when she was brought up. "But I'm not talking about Emma Mogens, dad, I'm talking about the Mogens family. We can't just leave them here." Mathias had never been liked by Abel, nor Mr. and Mrs. Mogens, but he couldn't just leave Emma's family behind like this. It was like leaving Emma herself behind.

His father sighed. "We can't make them leave either. I've already spoken to them and they said they're not leaving. I never got a reason, but I have a hunch it's because they're waiting for their daughter to come home. No, we can't bring them if they don't want to go. But we can't stay here with them Mathias—"

"We can't just pack the place and leave—!"

"That's exactly what we were planning to do! We have to leave this country! Staying here is... Is like suicide!" His father, Mathias sensed, was becoming impatient. Mathias knew he had to continue pressing him to let them stay, but he before he could open his mouth, his father had started back up again: "And, this isn't your decision. I'm your father, and it's my job to keep this family safe."

"That's rubbish!" Mathias exclaimed. He ignored the infuriated look his father was giving him. "We have a home here, we have jobs here, this is where we're stable! How will we know we will get that if we move to Norway?!"

Mathias jumped when his father brought his hand down on the wooden table with a frightening amount of strength. "Mathias that is enough. We are going, and there is nothing you can do to stop this from happening! I don't know what will happen, but this is the only way we'll be able to survive this mess! Unless you want to go wherever that girl Emma went, you're coming to Norway with us!" his father shouted. Mathias' heart stopped. He couldn't get her name out of his head, and every time it pounded through, his tears had a higher probability of falling. Too late his father realized the strength of his words. 

Mathias' ears rang loudly as he got up from the table and started towards the stairs. "Mathias, I—" his father was cut off by Mathias' heavy footsteps as he climbed the stairwell up to his room and raced inside, shutting the door as quickly as possible. As soon as he fell into his bed he started to sob.

Sobbing this hard hurt. His face was fervent and warm thanks to the hot tears that came to him in uncontrollable waves. He yelled into his pillow, screamed into it. His body was racking with shouts and cries. But, through the tears, screams, and hot fury, it was his heart that hurt the most. It felt empty and dead. He was sure that it would never beat again; not after this. He wasn't sure if he wanted it to beat after this. What point was there to live when you had nothing to live for?

Mathias didn't know when they were leaving for Norway, but he knew that it would be the day that goes down in complete and utter infamy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews and thoughts are appreciated and they help me to keep going :)  
> I'm really proud of this chapter ;u; The original chapter was 6k words but seeing that was a bit too long I decided to split up the chapters evenly. The paragraphs are a bit chunky, so I apologise for that. This chapter reaches just about 3k words. I hope everyone liked it. Next chapter should be up at the end of next week (12/8 or 12/9).  
> thanks for reading
> 
> much love,  
> tate


	3. Au Courant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **"No one is so brave that he is not disturbed by something unexpected." –Julius Caesar**

**March 3, 1940 — Norway**

When Mathias pictured Norway in his head, he thought of ice covered streets, people dressed in warm clothes, the bite of a north wind, and deep pools of water that looked like shiny black steel. He thought of grey clouds and the cold kiss of snow against his cheek, and he thought of what it might be like to live there all the time, all year. Perhaps this wouldn't be as bad as his brain made it out to be? But, whenever he thought of it like that, he thought of the summers he spent in his home in Belgium. He thought of the golden hay, the sunlight that made everything warmer and brighter, the warm streams and crystal clear water, the splashing frogs and the butterflies that rested atop the blue petals of his mother's hyacinths.

No matter how much he tried to convince himself that moving was a good thing, he couldn't seem to get his summer memories out of his mind. Nothing would ever be as good as Belgium, his home.

It was another cold March day, nothing unlike the ones in the days previous. In fact, this particular day was exactly like the day before. Spiteful gusts of air swept through the countryside, blowing off men's hats and making laundry on a rope snap. This weather inevitably meant a storm was on its way. _How coincidental_ , thought Mathias. Hopefully, this storm would be the last one that the country saw until next winter.

Mathias' cheeks burned red. The wind was freezing cold, gnawing at any uncovered skin on his body. He had bundled up that late winter morning. His beaten black overcoat that he had gotten when he was sixteen was buttoned tightly, and a red wool scarf was wrapped around his neck. He hadn't any gloves of his own so he wore his mother's too small leather gloves. Mathias' trousers did little to protect him from the freezing air and the shoes he wore were for show, not warmth. His parents wanted to look more upper class rather than look like farmers who lived in rolling green fields and only prospered when it was warm enough to grow to produce for a road stand. 

Mathias was only a little, if not at all, bothered by his apparel. He quite enjoyed to dress up, even though there was no occasion.

Mathias had stood in his room, looking at his mirror with an expressionless face. He looked handsome—blond hair styled, lips pink pulled upwards fractionally, and those light freckles that dusted his nose all looking rather fantastic—but his eyes gave him away, for they no longer lit up as they did in the summer, no longer looked as though there was a light behind them. 

His eyes weren't bright blue anymore; they held no depth, no meaning, no reason. He didn't feel like there was a reason for them to light up. His eyes were just plain blue.

And as Mathias walked to the train terminal with his parents and a hundred other people, he wished that the sky was blue. He wished that the sun was out and that the children around him looked happy, and God how he wished that his heart didn't hurt this bad. He looked through the chattering crowd, examining each and every face he could see. His mother stood at his side and his father at her's. 

Young children, no more than eight, tagged each other on the arm and then ran, weaving through a sea of men and women. A young mother held her baby on her hip and kissed her husband goodbye. The mother looked worried, but her husband seemed unfazed. _He must be going for business_ , Mathias thought, examining his attire. His suit was as dark and as depressing as the smoke that would puff from the train. His eyes wandered to two boys who appeared to be brothers. They both gripped tightly to suitcases. The taller one's face was taut into a worried expression, while the younger one, who was a young adolescent, to say the least, was skipping around his bag without a care in the world. _Where are they going without parents_? Mathias asked himself. He dared not to try and think of an answer.

He was taken from his thoughts when his mother's elbow nudged his side. He turned his attention to her, and then to the train which was now approaching the station in a cloud of smoke and chugging. His heart sank to his stomach. This was the moment, the one he'd been dreading. His mouth was dry and his eyes were glued to the train. Something in the back of Mathias' head was yelling, _run, run, run!_ but he knew he could not escape this. This was it. After this, he didn't know when he would ever see Belgium again, or his house, or the barn, or the Mogens. And he wondered if this is what Emma felt before she disappeared. Was she hesitant? Was she afraid? Did she intend on coming back?

"Come on dear," his mother said. The crowd passengers all trudged slowly towards the train at the same dreadful pace. Mathias, being just about six feet tall, could almost see over the crowd, but not enough so that he could see where the doors were supposed to be. "Mother, I can't see the doors," he said. Her blue eyes were full of worry, her forehead creased. "You go ahead and look for the doors and I'll hold your coattail as we walk," she said. He looked back at his father, making sure that he had heard the plan, and then proceeded forward through the crowd. It was almost like his mother was tugging onto him, trying to hold him back. Her grip was that tight. He passed a few men smoking cigarettes and nearly tripped over a child who sat on the ground sucking her thumb. Mathias pondered how a train this size could possibly fit these many people. He looked back occasionally to see if his mother was still there. Even though he still felt her tug on his coat, it was reassuring to see that she was still there, even if she those blue eyes looked frightened and her brown curls were tousled.  
"Excuse me, young man!" Mathias turned to his right and saw a man waving his hat and coming towards him. Mathias hid his confusion as the man started to chatter. "Sir, please, I'm in need of a train ticket! If you would be so kind as to sell me yours—"

"Not for sale," Mathias mumbled. He could feel his parents' concerned eyes on his back but ignored them and stepped forward. He was stopped again. 

"You don't understand sir, I need to get to Denmark so I can—" Mathias pushed him away, annoyed, and walked forward. He held his mother's hand in case he needed to pull her away from any trouble this man might cause. It was hard enough getting through the crowd. The last thing they wanted was to be stopped by people begging for tickets.

He now knew that a train like this couldn't fit so many people. Poor families stood in the crowd and all asked the same question: Do you have any tickets to spare?

No one had tickets to spare.

Why do so many people want to leave, Mathias wondered. Why did so many take the chance of leaving for another country, unsure if they would get a home, job, or any chance of survival?

He looked ahead. The doors of the train were green and shiny. "Mother," he turned around and leaned down to speak into his mother's ear. "The doors are just up ahead. Hold onto my coat tightly." She nodded in understanding and set her mouth into a straight line when Mathias began walking again. He looked around at the hoards of families and then decided the best way to go would be straight through the pack. No one in their right mind would yell at him, what with his stature and purposely intimidating stare he was giving everyone who so much as glanced his way. 

"Come on Mathias," he mumbled to himself. He brushed his hand over his mother's knuckles before stepping through. At first, no one moved for him; he was sure this would be about as hard as walking through a brick wall. But then as he slowly eased himself in between the crowd, it gradually became much easier to navigate through. 

Every so often he had to ask someone to move, but soon, he found himself standing diagonally to the train door. There was a man who stood on the steps wearing a forest green uniform and an irritated look on his face. He was corralling people who offered tickets through the train doors with hurried pushes. His eyes completely passed over those who did not have a ticket, who were no more to him than a nuisance. Mathias' ticket was safely tucked away in his buttoned pocket. He pushed through the people.

Standing in the midst of the crowd was not proving to be easy. The air was tense and he was being shouldered consistently. His mother's hold tightened; his father kept his head on a swivel. And Mathias, determined to get his parents to safety, called out to the man in the uniform: "Hey! Hey! Over here! I have a ticket for you!" The last part attracted the man's attention, for he turned his gaze to Mathias and raised a bushy black eyebrow. Mathias knew this was risky, but in the sea of people, he ripped open his pocket and held his ticket up in a clenched fist. The man gestured him forward just as people began to grab his raised arm. Mathias squeezed his eyes shut, shielding himself from the hits that people were throwing, and blindly walked, no, shoved his way forward.

Though it couldn't have been more than a few moments of the walking, it felt like forever to the Danish boy and his parents. There were hands on his body, arms, chest, torso, some reaching for his neck, and then there were pleas shouted in his ear. "Please, sir!" and "I'll pay you whatever you want, just please give me that ticket!" There were also the threats that came too quickly and left Mathias too slowly. He couldn't shake the feeling from his gut that these people were going to hurt him. He was sure that these people were going to harm him and his parents before he could even react. If this is what fear felt like, then this was the first time in his life he'd been truly afraid for himself and his family.

He almost tripped; he felt hands on his biceps, steadying him.

"Whoa there, take it easy," the uniformed man said as Mathias opened his eyes. 

He found himself looking into mildly concerned green eyes. The man spoke Dutch but had a British accent and a hard set face. He was young, only appearing to be a year or two older than Mathias. "You nearly tripped over your own feet. Better keep those eyes open when you walk." Mathias, wide-eyed and dazed, nodded. 

He became increasingly confused when the British man looked at him with expectant green eyes and a cocked head. "Your ticket," the British man provided. 

_Oh_. Mathias had nearly forgotten. He looked down in his hand at the crumpled up ticket and offered it to the man gingerly. The man examined it and then shrugged, gesturing him to move through the door to the train. 

Mathias did as he was told, but waited in the doorway for his mother and father. When they were all inside, the British man stepped in beside them and shut the train doors. "It seems you were the last ones who actually had tickets," he said stuffing the tickets into his pocket. He turned to look at the family of three, thoughts running around behind his green eyes, and then nodded towards the train car. "Well, I guess I'll show you where you three can sit. Off we go." He moved past them to take the lead as they went through the train door into what appeared to be the dining car.

The train was noticeably warmer than the outside where the gusts of wind chilled people to the bones. The dining car was especially warm. Yellow wallpaper adorned the walls and chandeliers swayed from the ceiling. A few people sat at the tables, eating breakfast, drinking coffee (though coffee was a rarity these days so perhaps they were drinking tea), or reading the newspaper. A few eyes lifted to glance at the family of three and the British man but no one really paid them any mind. 

They went through another door where the lounge car was. There were a lot more people here than in the dining car. Just as the train started to take the first few chugs forward, the man slid open a door for Mathias' family. The inside was the same as all of the other cabins: green patterned carpet on the floor, one big window that let in gray sunlight, and two cushioned benches that were facing each other. 

Mathias was hesitant to step inside; there was something telling him that if he went in, he would never get out. And maybe that was true. This was the point of no return, it seemed.

Nevertheless, he stepped inside and took a seat on the deceivingly uncomfortable bench.

His mother and father sat across from him and started to drop their suitcases, and take out things to occupy themselves. Mathias was about to do the same when he felt a hand on his arm and looked up to see the British man looking down at him. He looked like he was trying to say something, but there was an invisible force stopping him. He sighed, and then looked over to Mathias' parents. "Excuse me, ma'am, sir, could I speak with your son for a moment?" he asked Mr. and Mrs. Køhler politely.

Mathias' mother looked up at the two and then nodded. "Yes, but can I get your name, sir? You've been very helpful to us and I think we should thank you properly," said Mrs. Køhler.

"My name is Arthur," said the British man. "Arthur Kirkland. I'll be here if you have any questions or issues." Arthur then turned to Mathias and held out a hand to help Mathias up. He didn't think twice about taking Arthur's hand and letting him walk him out of the cabin.

"What's your name?" Arthur asked as they both made their way to the door that divided the lounge car and the dining room. Mathias realized that Arthur wasn't taking him back to the dining car, but instead, they were going to be standing in the small outside area where the two cars separated. 

The train was chugging away, the metal wheels gnawing against the iron train tracks. Smoke billowed out overhead. As they got outside Mathias replied, "My name's Mathias Køhler," he said. His lips were cold and his cheeks bright red thanks to the wind that beat against his tender face. Arthur nodded but did not look back at Mathias. He was leaned over the railing, his hair blowing all to one side of his solemn face; he was clearly deep in thought. 

Eventually, Arthur straightened up, and reached into his pocket, pulling out a small box: cigarettes. He opened the box and placed the cigarette in between his lips. He fumbled for a match. Mathias hadn't realized he was staring until Arthur looked up at him with a smirk. "Don't tell me you smoke," he said with a tiny grin. 

Mathias' lips turned up ever so slightly and he gave a curt nod. "What can I say?" he joked. Arthur only shook his head and handed him a cigarette and lit it for him, shaking out the match.

"Where are you from?" Arthur asked after a moment. Mathias let the smoke escape his lips and closed his eyes, savoring every second. "We're just outside of Brussels," he admitted as he opened his blue eyes. "We live in a backcountry area where we stay all year ‘round. We own a farm."

"How did you afford to be on this train," Arthur asked incredulously. 

"Tickets are a fortune!"

Mathias only shrugged and took the cigarette from his mouth. "No idea. I guess we got 'lucky'." 

Arthur noted the sarcasm and tilted his head curiously, "You don't want to be here do you?"

Mathias chuckled and scratched the back of his neck. "How'd you know?" he asked sarcastically. He shook his head and breathed out. "No. If I could be anywhere right now, I'd be at home, reading and listening to the radio." Arthur's eyebrows came together. "Isn't it only broadcasted in English?"

Mathias pursed his lips before nodding. He smiled as he said, "I'm fluent," in smooth English. Arthur sighed in relief, immediately abandoning Dutch for his native English. "Thank fucking God. Do you know how hard it is to speak Dutch all day? Conjugating in your head and then making sure you don't mess up pronunciations and sounds. God, it's bloody brutal," Arthur said in a much more relaxed tone. 

Mathias couldn't help but laugh at Arthur; he could tell this man had no filter for swear words and that was something Mathias was okay with. "You're decent at Dutch. I understand how it can be hard."

"I'm sensing you're speaking from experience. Your last name isn't Dutch or Belgian, Mr. Køhler," Arthur retorted. His green eyes flashed up to meet Mathias' blue ones. 

Mathias shrugged and leaned onto the rail. "I'm Danish. My parents and I are from Denmark."

"Then what the bloody hell are you doing in Belgium?" the British man asked. Arthur was turning out to be quite amusing to Mathias as their conversation played on; Mathias couldn't help the smile on his face.

"I don't know. Ask my parents. All I know as of now is that we're going to Norway, Lord knows why, and we're going to probably be homeless because my dad is an idiot and can't plan things through," Mathias said with venom. 

Arthur threw his cigarette away. "Now why do you say that?" he pondered. Mathias clenched his fists, clearly frustrated, and sighed. 

His parents were blinded by fear, too afraid to even think about their actions. If his father couldn't find work, his mother couldn't grow produce, and they couldn't get a home, they'd have virtually nothing. Why did Arthur care? Why did he need to know? Mathias looked into the green eyes of the man, the man who had been kind enough to help his family onto the train, get them a place to sit, and then notice that Mathias was feeling upset. 

He took the cigarette from his mouth, "They just didn't plan ahead and I'm worried," he mumbled.

Arthur nodded. "I know the feeling. Well, it's ultimately better than being in Belgium—at least for the time being. No one knows what might happen, and it's only a matter of time before Germany invades this country just like Austria and Czechoslovakia."

Mathias hated when people talked about the possible invasion of Belgium so he quickly changed the subject: "Will you still be working on this train? Going back and forth?"

Arthur snorted and shook his head. "What do you take me for, an idiot? No, I'm actually quitting in a few days. I have a life in Paris that I need to get back to."

Mathias was perplexed. "You live in Paris?" he asked. "But... but that—"

"Make sense? Because I'm English and I'm supposed to hate the French?" Arthur finished for him. He scoffed. "Stereotypical. Well, perhaps at one time I did, but I fell in love. Tragically."

"I was going to say that it was a long commute from here to Paris," Mathias provided. The wind was rustling his hair aggressively. "But go on."

Arthur smiled. "It's odd, I know. But I love it. I love all of it."

"Who is she? Are you married?" Mathias asked. He couldn't imagine Arthur being married at his age, but who was he to judge. Though Mathias thought he would get a straight up answer of 'yes' or 'no', he got the complete opposite. Arthur's face fell and he leaned back against the train door, looking about ten years older than he was. He rubbed at his face for a moment before looking back at Mathias.

"Mathias," he said, "I think I can trust you." Mathias was confused but nodded nonetheless.

"I'm not dating a girl. And I don't think I ever could. So before you run off feeling disgusted, please promise you won't tell anyone."

Mathias was far from disgusted. In fact, he felt as though his heart had been set free and his mind was no longer bound by chains. His heart beat fast. _Maybe... Maybe he can help me._ He sighed and leaned against the rail for support. "I'm not disgusted, Arthur. I think it's great that you're brave enough to be who you are. I wish I had that courage."

Arthur sighed in relief. "Thank God. You know I've only told three people that, including yourself. You better not ruin me." Mathias only smiled and ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head a bit.

"I get it. Trust me, I do. And I hope you can be happy with him," Mathias said. 

Arthur smiled just a tiny bit. He opened his mouth to speak again but stopped mid-breath. He looked at something behind Mathias before grabbing the cigarette in Mathias' hand and throwing it away. Seconds later the door opened to reveal Mrs. Køhler.

"Mathias, darling, it's freezing out here. Come inside I don't want you getting sick," she said. Mathias nodded, holding his breath as he watched her step back into the train car. He let the smoke fly out of his lungs and then patted Arthur on the shoulder. "Thanks for saving my ass. If she saw me with a cigarette I'd be dead meat."

Arthur only shrugged. "Think nothing of it," he said. "Now go back inside, your mum is waiting."

Mathias turned to leave but stopped himself halfway. "Wait, what about you?" he asked Arthur with concern. Arthur was buttoning his uniform back up and adjusting his hair. "I have to be in another train car. If you need me don't hesitate to come find me—I mean it." 

Mathias nodded and rolled his eyes.

"I'll see you later Arthur," he said. As he stepped through the door, he could catch only a snippet of what Arthur had to say: "Good luck Mathias. You're going to n—"

Mathias could've guessed the rest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews are always appreciated and they help me keep updating :^)  
> It was so fun to write lil old Artie. What a gent. Perhaps he will return...?  
> apologies for the slightly wonky format.  
> Merry Christmas, Happy Hannukah, and Happy upcoming New Year everyone.
> 
> much love,  
> tate


	4. Roses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **"Friendship at first sight, like love at first sight, is said to be the only truth." –Herman Melville.**

**March 3, 1940 — Norway**

_The first thing Mathias heard ringing throughout his tired mind was a little girl's laugh, clearer than a silver bell at dawn. He tried to think of where he'd heard this voice before. It was angelic._

_Perhaps he was in Heaven._

_As he took in his surroundings, he realized that he was alone in a field. The grass came to his waist, golden sunshine shining unto the fields of wildflowers and prairie grass. He looked around, trying to find the source of the noise. At last, he called out, "Hello? Is anyone there?"_

_He felt a tap on his shoulder and spun around, coming face to face with Emma Mogens. She was wearing a yellow dress and her blonde hair was decorated with her signature red ribbon. Emma's green eyes were darker than usual, and for some reason they were half-lidded. Before Mathias could speak, she stepped forward, hooking her arms around Mathias' neck and pressing her perfect lips against the angle of his jaw. He gasped, trying to push her away but to no prevail. "Emma, what the—"_

_"I love you, Mathias," she whispered. She pulled back only to dive back in and crash her lips onto his. At this moment he openly resisted and pushed her away, his watery eyes wide with shock. "Emma, we can't—I mean... You're just a friend—"_

_"Oh, come on now Mathias," she sang. Emma put her hand on her hip and started to walk around Mathias as though she was a predator circling her prey. "I've seen the way you look at me. You can't resist me. I'm perfect for you."_

_Mathias shook his head. At that moment, a cold breeze made the grass sway and Emma's dress fly. "No, that's not true. You're my best friend, not- not my girlfriend! I don't love you like that." She stopped her pacing at this, and came up behind Mathias._

_Emma's arms slid around his waist and his shoulder and she was back to whispering in his ear: "You love me. Don't deny it. You just don't know it yet."_

_Mathias tried to move but his arms stiff and his feet were planted. One of Emma's sandy curls fell from the ribbon and tickled Mathias' neck. "I love you," she was muttering, her hands pressed against the side of his face. Mathias shook his head, mouthing 'no, no, no' and shaking his head._

_Emma's taunts continued relentlessly. "Mathias, I love you. I love you. I love you! I LOVE YOU! I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I—"_  
…

Mathias sat up immediately, gasping for air and whipping his head back and forth. He saw the foggy windows of the train that they had gotten on about thirty minutes prior, and he saw his mother looking down at him with concern. Her blue eyes shimmered as she said, "Mathias, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to frighten you, my dear. You fell asleep as soon as we got off the boat—"

"Boat?" he questioned just as the answer struck him. He had nearly forgotten. Hours earlier they had arrived in Denmark only to be quickly escorted onto a boat that was leaving for Norway. He hadn't remembered much at all. He was half asleep the whole time. He wouldn't be surprised if both his mother and father had to drag him on and off the boat. His mother looked down at him, raising an eyebrow, but he only waved her away. 

"I'm fine, just really tired," he explained. His mother sat back down and went back to opening her book, momentarily glancing at Mr. Køhler who was fast asleep. "It's rather strange, you've been sleeping all day," she hummed in musical Danish. "Did you get any sleep at all last night?"

Mathias scratched the back of his neck. He shrugged. 

His mother sighed in slight frustration, "Well, we're almost there anyway. I wanted you to get off the train first and see if you could find out what the are is like. I'm hoping we can perhaps find an inn to stay in. We might just have to settle for someone's house though." 

Mathias had expected the least. Sleeping in a stranger's house might be considered a luxury for them. "Anyways, I just need you to see what our options are. Do you think you can do that?"

"Yes, of course. Just make sure you grab my stuff for me," he said. She nodded in agreement just as the mighty screech of wheels against rail pierced the air. 

As the train gradually squealed to a stop, the people who were seated in the small cabins started to rise and grab their belongings. Basic knowledge told Mathias that soon the station would be crowded and finding a hospitable person would be harder than finding the Holy Grail.

Mathias, who was lucky enough to be towards the front of the herd of people, stepped through the exit of the train. People pushed around and called for each other. The whole place was disorganized. Mathias bounced on the balls of his feet and tried not to be too overwhelmed by everything going on around him. Two girls passed by him, flipping their curls and laughing. A young boy nudged his annoyed sister who rolled her eyes before meeting Mathias' just for a split second—

Stop that, he thought to himself. You have to stay focused on the task at hand. Don't get distracted by pretty girls just yet. He raised his eyes back to the crowd and then started to make his way through. Maybe he'd have better luck if he hung around towards the back of the crowd.

And so with his heart pounding frantically and his eyes darting back and forth, he made his way to the station. A tiny ticket booth was crowded with people speaking in a language Mathias almost understood: Norwegian. Surprisingly, the overhang was more or less devoid of people even though it was drizzling rain. Aside from Mathias, there were four people under the overhang—a family of three and a skinny teenage boy who sat by himself on a bench with his head down. Mathias didn't give the family a second glance.

The boy's skin was pale and smooth, like a porcelain doll's, and his half-lidded eyes were dark, most likely brown. He looked exhausted all slumped against the bench like his frame was falling apart. His head rested on his shoulder; he looked half asleep. Perhaps approaching him wouldn't be the best idea, but he did come here for a reason. He looked back towards the crowd of people getting off the train. 

There was no way he'd be able to find someone. And since this boy was here... Might as well ask about staying at his home for a day or two. Mathias looked at him again. The boy didn't look homeless and in fact looked rather tidy. Mathias looked down at himself, instantly wishing he was somewhat fresh. He smelled stale, like cigarette smoke. Not exactly the best smells in the world. Mathias sighed. Let's just get this over with, he thought.

The boy seemed to sense his approach from a mile away. His head jerked up and he turned his attention to the oncoming man. Mathias usually wasn't very anxious around people. In all honesty, he was rather charming in his introduction, but there was something about this boy that was throwing him off his game. Mathias breathed out and prayed that the tightness in his chest would somehow go away. " _Hej_ ," he said.

In an instant, he realized that the boy's eyes were not brown. They were blue. They were the type of blue associated with the sun as it was just about set on a summer night, or violets swaying in a chilly breeze. His eyes were wide, not innocently so but in a way that made Mathias wonder what lied beneath them. What kind of secrets did this boy have to tell?

" _Du er åpenbart ikke herfra_ ," the boy said. Mathias paused for a moment. He could understand what the boy said. Norwegian and Danish were somewhat close languages, after all. But now how could he respond? He didn't know shit about Norwegian.

Mathias decided to respond, " _Uh, ja, jeg er ikke herfra. Faktisk-_ "

"Oh, lovely, you're Danish," said the boy with a slight, harmless edge to his voice. He blew his fringe out of his face a bit irritably, as though speaking English made him annoyed. He was clearly caught up in his own thoughts, for only after a moment did he look back up at Mathias. "English? Do you speak it? _Engelsk_ —"

" _Ja._ I mean, yes, I speak it. Sorry," Mathias said a little embarrassed. 

The Norwegian boy narrowed his eyes momentarily before speaking. "What do you need?" he asked.

"What?" Mathias asked, dazed.

The Norwegian boy blinked. "You approached me."

He spoke as though he was guarding something from Mathias. _Well, of course, he's guarding something, Mathias. You just met the boy,_ Mathias chided himself mentally. How was he supposed to just go up to a random person and ask them if they could open up their home to him?

Despite the frigid air, Mathias was starting to feel his neck become dampened by nervous sweat. There was something about this intimidating boy that made him nervous. 

Nervous—of course! What did Mathias do when situations got the better of him?

He was charming. He was sweet. He smiled genuinely and sat down on the bench. The Norwegian boy's pale eyebrows came together at the uninvited intrusion of his personal space. "Well, actually." Mathias started with a grin and a newfound confidence, "my family and I are from Denmark as you picked up. We need a place to stay since we don't have a ton of money and we don't know the area. Do you think maybe you could help us? It's just for one night... Two tops! Besides, who wouldn't want someone like me in their home?" Mathias gestured to himself and smiled cheekily. The Norwegian boy's expression was hard to read— something between annoyed and astonished. He turned his body to face Mathias, smiling sweetly, sarcastically.

"Oh, of course, I'll just let a complete and utter stranger into my house and provide for their every need just because they asked. Let me get on my apron and cook you a homemade meal while I'm at it," he quipped cynically. He rolled his eyes ever so slightly and then mumbled: "I swear, they get even more incompetent every day..."

Mathias guessed he was talking about Danish people in general and ignored the spike of anger in his chest. He wasn't going to get anywhere by arguing, and besides, there was something about this boy that made him feel something. Something... strange. Something he hadn't felt since... since...

Since Emma.

He cleared his throat and continued. "Please, we really need somewhere to stay! We'll clean up all our messes, and we'll be sure to stay quiet. We can even help with the chores!" Mathias reasoned. He didn't want to sound desperate yet he couldn't help the twinge of helplessness that escaped his voice during his plea.

"I don't even know your name," the boy's said. It seemed Mathias' words may have had the slightest effect on him, for now, the Norwegian seemed to be searching for an excuse. He still kept his cold steely composure. "I and my parents won't allow it. I know that for a fact."

Mathias raised his eyebrows in surprise. The boy seemed to be insinuating that he was an only child—just like Mathias. "My name is Mathias. And I'm an only child too! Maybe they would understand and—"

"Don't get your hopes up, Dane," he said. "I never said I was an only child. And I didn't ask for your name either, thank you very much."

"What's your name?" Mathias asked.

The boy blinked and stumbled for words. "I—What?"

"Your name? I told you mine. It's only fair that you tell me yours."

He rolled his eyes. "You wish."

"Please?"

"Shut it, Dane."

Mathias felt a smile spreading across his face. This boy was interesting. 

Though he knew he was somewhat overstepping his boundaries, he nudged the boy. The Norwegian looked up at him with those big blue eyes but there wasn't annoyance in them like Mathias had expected.

It was almost like as he looked into the boy's eyes he could see his thoughts running around behind them. He could see irritation chasing around amusement and something distinctly cynical hiding around the corner. Mathias wondered if everyone could do this when they saw the boy. But too late he had rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. "I'm not telling you. Go ahead and guess until you're purple in the face if that's what you want."

Mathias smiled. "I'm not going to guess, I'll just end up getting it wrong," he said, shrugging and tilting his head to rest on his shoulder. "But is there any way at all that you would tell me?"

He considered this for a moment and then shrugged. "Perhaps."

Mathias perked up like a puppy upon seeing a new toy. "Tell me!"

"No."

Mathias wilted back down and leaned into the bench. He ran a hand through his hair and watched the crowd of people walking by, more specifically the girls. They all walked together which made for great eye candy. Where there was one, there were more. A young lady walked past, speaking rapid Norwegian and combing a hand through her black curls. Two girls hung loosely by her sides, both making faces as they listened to her story. 

Mathias smirked and looked over to see if the other boy had noticed. But to his surprise, the other boy didn't seem to care. In fact, he wasn't even looking up. His sapphire eyes were shut and his dark lashes framed his defined cheekbones.

But as Mathias looked at the resting boy he noticed something. A silver chain hung from the boy's neck. A cross, similar to the one Mathias' father made him wear whenever he went to church. Though it wasn't the cross that surprised him, rather, the small engraving on the silver pendant. It was almost invisible but he could just make it out.

"Lukas," he breathed. The boy, or rather, Lukas, fluttered his eyes open, a confused look contorting his face.

"Your necklace," Mathias explained. Lukas looked down at his cross necklace, and then hastily shoved it under his white button-up shirt so that it was out of sight. Lukas did a horrible job of concealing his flustered expression.

"I'm surprised you saw that. For a Danish boy, you're not as dumb as I imagined."

"Why'd you hide it?"

Lukas blinked. "Mind your business."

Mathias smiled. "It's okay if you don't want to tell me," he said. He stretched his arms across the top length of the bench and yawned. "I usually tell people too much, so you're smart for not saying a lot."

Lukas ignored him. He was clearly trying to block him out at this moment. What was he thinking? He always took the time in between the few conversations they'd had and paused to stop and think about something. Or multiple things. Who knew? Mathias sure as hell wanted to know. But, he needed to respect this boy's boundaries, at least until he hopefully agreed on letting Mathias and his family stay over for a night or so. Mathias slouched down on the bench and rested his head on his shoulder. "Is there anything we can do here so I'm not bored out of my mind?"

Lukas rolled his eyes. Again. This boy seemed to have a thing for rolling his eyes. His parents must've hated it. As he turned his shoulders, he started to answer: "No, but you can go and f..."

Mathias' eyebrows came together at the sudden trailing off of Lukas's voice. The Norwegian boy's dark blue eyes were slightly widened and his shoulders had stiffened upon seeing whatever or whoever was behind Mathias. Suddenly he grabbed Mathias' gloved hand and pulled him up to stand. "Come on," he said somewhat urgently. 

Mathias stood, confused and worried. "Lukas what's—" he started to turn his head but Lukas was pulling him forward, away from the overhang and out past the large mob of people. Mathias craned his neck, trying to see what was behind them. 

Other people seemed to notice as well, for their reaction was almost the same as Lukas's. Everyone seemed to pause what they were doing, and start walking the other way. Parents corralled children in all different directions. Teenage boys and girls exchanged wary glances, yet had their eyes trained on the unknown figure out of pure curiosity. And Mathias, poor confused Mathias, still hadn't a clue to what was causing all this migration.  
After walking about a hundred paces away. Lukas pulled Mathias behind a pillar where drops of rain dampened stone details and made dewdrops form on Lukas's fair hair. 

Lukas leaned his back against the pillar, looking over his shoulder, and watched the people give the instigator a wide, yet casual berth. A look of deeply concealed fear had cast over Lukas's midnight blue eyes. Mathias could not take it anymore, and he took Lukas's forearm, pulling him towards him. He didn't expect for Lukas to be so light, and by accident, he made the Norwegian fall against his chest. 

He was only about three or four inches shorter than Mathias, yet he was strangely thin for his age. He hoped Lukas couldn't feel the increasing rate of his heart. 

A peeved Lukas looked up at Mathias with dangerous eyes, putting a hand on Mathias' chest and pushing away. "What the hell do you think you're doing, Mathias?!" he whispered. 

Mathias scowled and chewed the inside of his lip before responding. "What are you doing?! Who are we hiding from?" Mathias whispered back. 

Lukas's stern look relaxed marginally. He cocked his chin in the direction of the other side of the pillar. "Have a look. But try not to make eye contact."

Mathias regarded Lukas with one more concerned look, but nonetheless took a step past the Norwegian. He stayed behind the pillar so as not to attract any unwanted attention. There, taking swift, acclimatized steps was who Mathias thought were the scariest three men he'd seen in his life. They were dressed warmly, wearing black leather overcoats and gloves, but underneath that was a dark gray uniform. 

An individual collection of medals and small snips of fabric was patched over one man's chest. _Medals of war_ , Mathias thought. He didn't have a clue what they meant nor did he care to know, but just looking at all of the medals made his stomach uneasy. The man in the middle looked to be in his mid-forties, while the other two by his side could've been Mathias' age. The oldest of the three men wore a heavy gray coat that reached almost to the bottom of his shin. The coat was unique, worn with the lapels facing outwards. On his hands were black leather gloves and he wore shiny black boots to finish off the look. 

The two men at his sides wore similar outfits except their coats were lighter, only reaching their thighs, and they had no medals. They were young, after all. This was probably the first real war they'd seen. And yet they seemed so unafraid, so sure of what they were doing. Mathias shuddered.

But it was not these details that made Mathias worried. No. It was the fabric tied around each man's right arm that was making people so afraid. It was the red fabric tied around their arms that made Mathias happy he was not in sight, and happy that Lukas was safe behind Mathias' broad back. The fabric around their arm, the color of blood and desire, was what made these men so different than any other man in this area.

"Germans," Lukas whispered.

Mathias turned to Lukas. The Norwegian's face was contorted into a scowl like he couldn't even believe that he had been made to say the word itself. Lukas looked up and realizing that Mathias was looking at him, he rolled his eyes. "You look like you've seen a ghost," Lukas said, sounding oddly amused. 

Mathias _felt_ like he'd seen a ghost. He had only ever heard of these men on BBC, and in the newspapers that his father had brought home after work. Seeing them right in front of him, in all their glory... well that was enough to make someone like Mathias feel a bit of shock. His leg bounced. "Why are they here?" he asked Lukas.

Lukas pursed his lips and watched as the men came to a slow stop. The older man took out a sheet of paper. Mathias looked, and though he couldn't the words that were written on it, his gut jumped, telling him: _not good, not good, not good_. As the man unraveled the paper, Lukas spoke up again. 

"They've been doing this for two weeks now," he explained. "Every week when the train from Denmark comes they start looking for people. Most of them are related to someone from Germany, but I don’t think it’s like that anymore. They take them into a car and drive them to Oslo, or so they say. I haven't heard what happens after that. Some fool started a rumor saying that they're being used for ‘social experiments’... whatever that means..." 

Lukas paused. His eyes glazed over in thought, and then returned back to normal. "But, if we're being honest, then that fool who made up those rumors is probably right."

After a moment, Lukas continued: "I've looked into it; it's all approved, for some stupid reason. I don't think they can do much harm to us anyways."

Mathias' heart was beating faster than the engine of the train he had arrived on. Germany was already causing so much trouble within Europe, and now it seemed that wherever Mathias went, they would follow. Arthur's words about Belgium rang in his ears: _No one knows what might happen, and it's only a matter of time before Germany invades this country too..._

Mathias pressed his fingers into his palm and exhaled deeply. Concerned, slightly annoyed eyes looked up at Mathias and he felt a hand on his arm. "Mathias?" Lukas asked. "Are you okay?"

"Fine," he responded in a strangled voice. He cleared his throat, and the German men started to speak to the crowd. "Just fine."

Lukas's attention was now focused on the crowd which had neatly formed around the men in uniform. The man in the middle spoke German, while one of the men at his side translated his harsh spitting into softer Norwegian.

Lukas had replaced Mathias' spot and now listened intently to what was being announced by these... these... intruders. These men who thought they could waltz into Lukas's country and do whatever they pleased, whenever they pleased, and however they pleased. Didn't they know that this was Norway? Arguably the most beautiful, respectable, and courageous country in all of northern Europe? And these Germans, with their harsh tongue and intimidating stares, kept taking whoever they wanted just because they thought they were superior.

Lukas boiled with rage; his fingers were white from gripping the pillar. He was biting his lip hard, when he heard Mathias come up behind him, his voice soft and slightly shaky. "What are they saying?" he asked.

Oh. Right. Mathias didn't understand Norwegian that well. "Give me a second," Lukas said in a calmer tone. He pressed his temple to the pillar, hoping that he would be able to translate. Finally, the young soldier was speaking Norwegian again. 

Lukas hesitated, then started: "Good morning. We are here today, with permission from the Norwegian government, to speak with a few Danish citizens arriving on the 349-train this morning. It was reported that a passenger was carrying confidential material of importance regarding the well-being of Germany. This is purely precautionary and will take no less than an hour." The older man began to speak German again, giving Lukas some time to talk with Mathias.

"I told you, they've been doing this for a while now," he explained casually. His tone wasn't as icy as it had been before, and now carried a wisp of serenity. Calmness. Mathias let the words overflow him in the hopes that he would start breathing normally again. His gut was doing flips, and there was a cloud of dread that seemed to linger over him, pushing down on his shoulders making his body scream. He just wanted to leave this place. He just wanted to be at home. 

"There's nothing to worry about," Lukas assured him. Mathias didn't look at him. He kept his eyes unfocused, staring into an abyss of smudged lines and colors. He bit his lip and nodded. 

But Mathias was suddenly ripped from his thoughts when Lukas took him by the chin, yanking his face in the direction of his. Lukas's eyes were wide, serious, and held a message for Mathias that said "focus". 

"Don't space out, Mathias," Lukas urged. He kept his eyes locked with Mathias' muted ice blue ones. "You need to stay focused. Don't let these men know you're afraid or else they will rip you to shreds." Mathias swallowed and nodded once more. "Don't worry about anything right now. We're safe. Okay?" 

When Lukas didn't receive a response, his shut his mouth and sighed, glancing away. He then turned back to Mathias. "We can help each other. I can help you. Show me that you're worth it."

Mathias took a deep breath. Everything is fine, he told himself. As long as he was being sheltered by Lukas, he could convince his heart and his gut that he would be okay. "Okay," Mathias said. He breathed out once more. "I'm fine now."

Lukas nodded. As Mathias straightened up, Lukas let his eyes linger on the Danish boy. He felt something was wrong, and so did Lukas. But, Lukas was never one to trust in his heart. "I have to keep listening. I'll tell you what they say."

Lukas gave one final glance at the Dane and then returned his attention to the men. Though Lukas had said it himself that nothing was wrong, he could sense a sort of tension underlying the air that he and Mathias were sharing. It made him feel like there was a block of cement crushing down on his chest; he could only imagine how Mathias was feeling. 

The translator spoke up again, this time his voice cutting the crowd's quiet murmurs like a razor sharp knife. Lukas listened: "The list we are reading is alphabetical. Please listen if your name is called."

Lukas turned to a fidgety Mathias, "They're calling names now. It's alphabetical." Mathias nodded, his electric blue eyes dazzling Lukas in the grey weather. For a moment, the only color was that of Mathias' eyes. Lukas felt himself start to relax, swaying under Mathias' gaze. And he almost did find himself fully relaxed until he realized where he was, and what he was doing. He shook himself, turned, and almost avoided Mathias confused somewhat concerned look. 

All around, there was a shift. As the names of countless Danish men were called, people around the started to move as well. Wives and children snatched onto the men, pulling them closer, trying to keep them in place. Men and women argued, the ladies desperately throwing Danish words at their husbands in an attempt to keep them from leaving. Lukas didn't need to understand a word of Danish to know what they were saying: "Don't go, don't go, don't go."

Even some teenage boys were being called up. A boy with stark cornsilk hair gripped tightly onto his twin sister as he heard his name called. His brown eyes were wide and his sister was frantically sputtering words in a language any desperate person could understand. He looked down at his sister, stroking her curls with a look only someone with siblings could render. There was a pang of fear in Lukas's chest, like a gunshot firing in the dead of a winter night. 

All around, there was panic in the air. With every name called, the crowded train terminal was an inch closer to plunging into the colorless abyss called Chaos. Lukas remembered teaching his brother about Greek mythology, about Chaos. He remembered explaining to him that everything that the Greeks believed in was created by Chaos. Gaea, Tartarus, and Eros: Earth, the Underworld, and Love. Lukas took a shaky breath as he reminisced, realizing again that he needed to stay alert. Chaos was almost upon the people. It was only a matter of time.

"Lukas," Mathias whispered breathily, as though he'd just seen something horrible.

In the safety of his thoughts, Lukas hadn't heard what was going on. Hadn't heard what had just been said. Hadn't heard what would define the next few months of his life.

"Mathias Køhler!"

Lukas's heart raced. Mathias stood there, eyes wide and barely breathing, his hand gripping the cold column so hard he could've broken it. He was comparable to a statue at this point - that's how still he was. Lukas knew Mathias wasn't going to be able to handle this. He grabbed the boy by the hand and squeezed hard, making Mathias look Lukas in the eyes. 

"You're not Mathias Køhler anymore," Lukas said sternly in a quiet whisper. He pulled Mathias close to him, his body burning with the sensation of Mathias. His hands were warm, and his eyes were wide and afraid. "You're Emil Bondevik for now. You're my little _bror_. Got it?"

Mathias seemed puzzled. It was a long stretch, especially with the height difference that the two steadily maintained. But it had to work. This was their only shot.

Lukas sighed at Mathias' quizzical expression and turned, putting one foot in front of the other and dragging the Dane behind him. They were at the very end of the crowd so they ducked their heads, slightly so as not to look suspicious, but just enough that they'd be able to go unseen under the brims of the men's hats. They moved briskly, feet hitting the cobblestone with little noise. Lukas was hopeful. Who wouldn't have been? They were so close, so damn close to getting out of there and home safety. Just when it seemed they were safe, Mathias looked back, at the crowd.

There was jostling, that's for sure. People pushed and shoved each other out of the way, making way for what looked to be two men making their way through the crowd to get to someone. Of course, this person was all the way in the middle of the crowd, trying to move away from the men that pursued her. But she didn't get too far. No, before she could even move three steps there were hands on her arms and they were dragging her, kicking and protesting, to the front of the crowd. The older general who was the leader of this whole operation waved away his men. The woman stood there in front of the woman his eyes narrowed, his face in a scowl of disgust. His lips barely moved as he spoke to her. She didn't know German but tried her best to answer in the foreign language. For a moment, everything seemed fine. They were just talking. Talking, something so simple and mundane, yet so deadly and evil. There was a silence between the two. White noise drilled into Mathias' ears.

The general pulled out a gun. In a second, he placed it against the woman's chest. A gunshot was the only noise that penetrated Mathias' thoughts. He watched as the woman crumpled to the ground, falling like a ragdoll into a pool of her own blood.

He watched helplessly as the light left his mother’s eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Cliffhangers suck. Thanks to Victoria for helping with the Norwegian and Danish. You rock.
> 
> see you soon,  
> tate


	5. Fjólublátt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **“All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream.” ― Edgar Allan Poe**

**March 5, 1940 — Kristiansand, Norway**

Mathias didn’t seem like the type of person who was prone to fainting. Unfortunately for Lukas, he was.  
Lukas had watched as Mathias’ face paled at the sight of the woman’s blood, and suddenly he had tipped over like a falling tree. Lukas wished he would have made a “timber” joke, but because of the circumstances, it didn’t seem appropriate. Besides, they were running from Nazis for Christ’s sake. No time to fool about. 

Thankfully, Mathias’ little episode didn’t attract any attention at all. Everyone was focused on the woman who was sprawled in a puddle of blood. There was screaming, weeping, and running all around. It was just enough chaos for Lukas to escape the scene unnoticed. Mathias had been draped over his shoulder, like a wounded, or perhaps, dead soldier. Lukas barely knew the boy and now he was dragging him along a dirt road, huffing and puffing in the ice cold air. Though the woman’s death was quick, he couldn’t shake the feeling of dread. He felt so… wrong. Maybe Mathias had known that woman? No, he had assured himself. For all Lukas knew, this boy had lied about having parents. He was back to his first thought: he barely knew Mathias.

Which led to another question: why was he taking Mathias to his house? He barely had enough to take care of Emil and their cat, Ursula, How was he supposed to care for his family and this giant man as well?  
Lukas sighed. Fuck Denmark, he had thought.

Lukas had arrived at the house way after dark, making Emil rush to the door when he saw his brother approach. Emil had been so shocked to see Mathias, he nearly ran to the telephone to call their neighbor. He was sure that Lukas was crazy for bringing this man home. When the frantic fifteen-year-old tried to question Lukas, he was met with a dead-eyed stare comparable to the chills of winter. Lukas didn’t even have to say “don't ask.”

Mathias ended up sleeping peacefully in Lukas’s bed. Lukas slept in his absent parent’s bed. Emil slept with a knife on his nightstand. Ursula the cat simply slept.

…

When Mathias woke up, the first thing he saw was a white and gray British Shorthair cat treading gingerly over his stomach.

Mathias thought he was dreaming. He blinked a few times, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. When he looked again he realized that there was indeed a grey tuxedo British Shorthair roaming over the unfamiliar blankets that covered his body. Mathias sat up, startling the cat away. He looked around in the grey lighting. He was lying in a bed shoved into the corner of the room. There was a thick navy blue quilt plus a goose down-comforter draped over him. Four navy blue pillows were stacked behind his throbbing head. The cat had jumped off the edge of the bed and onto a polished wood desk where it sat licking its paw, showing no care towards Mathias. Adjacent to the desk was a large dark wood bureau with grainy black-and-white pictures and a small plant sitting atop it. Mathias stretched his arms wide, only to discover that the bed had posted as well. 

He ignored his migraine and sat up, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. The window over the bureau was covered by blackout curtains. Mathias got to his feet, but almost immediately fell to the floor. His legs had given out. He sat on the floor sucking in air to soothe the pain. How long had he been out? And whose room was he in? Mathias figured that standing wouldn’t work, so he crawled over to the desk and leaned against the leg. The British Shorthair meowed lazily and jumped down next to him.   
Mathias watched the cat with a curious blue gaze. The cat ignored the Danish boy, strutting around him like he was another piece of furniture. Like he was inanimate and meaningless. A sense of dread filled Mathias’ chest.

The cat paused, tail flicking attentively. It had heard something. Mathias stayed absolutely still so as not to scare the cat. He held his breath. Time seemed frozen.

After what seemed like no more than a minute, the cat perked its ears up and pranced to the door, startling Mathias. With its rose-pink nose, the cat sniffed at the corner of the door, meowing, wailing for the door to open. As though in a trance, Mathias crawled over and reached up to the knob. He turned and pulled, and the cat bounded out the door.

No more crawling like this, Mathias thought. He was determined to figure out where he was and what was happening. This cat could’ve been his only shot, and he wasn’t going to crawl pitifully for the rest of his life.

He grasped the doorknob and strained to pull himself up. His forehead glistened with cold beads of sweat, but he finally managed to stand up. Upon standing, he realized he wasn’t wearing his own clothes. Instead, he was wearing a blue wool sweater and a pair of flannel pajama pants that were a bit too large for him. He huffed in annoyance. Now he had to find his clothes too. Nevertheless, Mathias walked (or struggled to) through the door and into a hallway where light poured through more windows. On the walls were more grainy pictures. He could make out the face of two young boys wearing rather expensive clothing in their picture. They had soft, angelic features, but they look moody and mysterious because of their down set lips. 

Mathias caught a glimpse of the cat trotting down the stairs. He followed quickly, squeezing onto the railing for dear life.

The cat seemed to enjoy Mathias’s struggling. It stopped occasionally to look back and flick its tail at the blond Dane. Sadistic cat, Mathias thought. He dragged his feet painfully against the carpeted floor and towards the stairs. The cat sat at the bottom, cleaning its paws with its tongue. _You’ve got to be kidding me_ , Mathias thought looking at the stairs.

He wanted to give up right there. He wanted to crawl back into that big comfy bed and snuggle up with all those pillows again. He wanted to wait for whoever was in the house to wake him up with a big smile and breakfast in bed. 

The cat meowed.

He sighed.

Unfortunately, Mathias needed answers more than he needed sleep. He stepped down the stairs cautiously, defeating one step at a time. It was painful to place all of his weight on just one foot. He wondered how long he’d been asleep―surely it had only been a day? He didn’t know where he was, how long he’d been out, and worst of all, what had happened before he passed out. Now, this cat was leading him around a house he knew nothing about.

Fantastic, he thought. I’m really going crazy.

When he got to the bottom, the cat arose from its sitting position and scampered down a foyer hallway towards a warm light that was coming from what Mathias guessed was a kitchen. Before the kitchen and on his left, there were glass doors shutting off a room with a grand piano and a wall lined with hundreds of books. There were stands with musical sheets haphazardly scattered over them. A violin case rested against the leg of a coffee table. 

More pictures covered the hallway walls. Most were small, but there was one large family portrait hanging on his right against the wall where he had descended the stairs. The same two boys were pictured in it, but there was a woman and a man in the picture as well. The man was handsome, all sharp features and a beaming smile. He had light brown hair and sunshine in his eyes. The older boy sat on his lap, beaming compared to the photo of him upstairs.

The woman in the picture was stunning. Her hair was so light, it looked like corn silk. She didn't have it styled any way at all. It hung around her shoulders like a white halo. Her eyes were light, probably blue or green, and she had a small, almost unnoticeable smile on her face like she wasn’t used to looking so happy. In her arms, she held the youngest boy, who mimicked her expression.

Mathias stared at it for a moment more. The date in the corner was written in messy cursive: “9 April 1927.”

He examined the picture once more before looking back to see where the cat had gone. He caught sight of the grey cloudlike cat tiptoeing into the kitchen. Mathias followed suit.

In the kitchen, there were warm lights and the sound of music drawing on throughout the room. Mathias located the source, which proved to be a large record player that sat on the round kitchen table. “In The Mood” was spinning on the record in a slow, hypnotic motion. The rhythm filled the kitchen like a spirit. If there were more people in the house, Mathias would’ve guessed there was a party going on.

He was about to take a step into the kitchen when he finally noticed the figure in front of the stovetop. It was a skinny teenage boy, who looked about fifteen or so. His hair was the lightest shade of blonde Mathias had ever seen, and he swayed and spun around to the sound of the trumpets. Mathias was about to leave the room when suddenly the boy stopped mid-spin and turned to look directly at Mathias.

Mathias stayed leaning in the doorway. He calmly raised a hand to wave, but this seemed to make the boy look even more startled than he already was. Before Mathias spoke up, the boy grabbed a knife from the side of the counter and pointed it straight at Mathias. The more Mathias looked at the boy, the more he wondered where he’d seen this boy before.

The pictures, he thought excitedly. He lives here.

“ _Tage det roligt_ ,” Mathias said in scratchy Danish. He held in hands up in surrender. He didn’t want to be killed by this kid just yet. 

The boy looked at him with a puzzled expression, his violet eyes glimmering dangerously. He opened his mouth and hesitated to speak. Finally, he asked, “I’ve heard you speak English?”

Mathias exchanged looks with the boy. He was now confused as to how this boy knew he spoke English. “How’d you-”

The boy waved away his question like a pesky bug and gestured for him to take a seat at the round kitchen table. Perhaps Mathias would’ve felt a little less threatened had the boy put the shiny silver knife down. 

He sat and kept his eyes locked with the light blue-violet orbs that were the boy’s eyes.

The boy came closer, examining Mathias like he was on display at a museum. He had a very angular, airbrushed face. All of his features were prominent and striking, yet simplistic and sweet. He looked angelic―that was the only way Mathias could possibly describe him.

The angel boy sat down across the table from Mathias. He slowly set the knife down, but kept it close just in case Mathias tried anything. He ran a hand through his wispy blonde hair before speaking again. “My name is Emil Bondevik-Steilsson,” he started. Emil’s voice was quiet yet commanding. “I know you probably have a lot of questions, but I’ll be honest with you―I don’t have a fucking clue who you are or why my brother brought you here. All I know is that you’ve been out for two days and my brother left you this.” Emil took a folded white sheet of paper from his pocket and held it out to Mathias.

Mathias looked at the paper, expressionless. Now he knew why this boy was familiar. He was Lukas’s brother. As soon as he heard the name Emil, he remembered the train station. 

You’re not Mathias Køhler anymore. You’re Emil Bondevik, my little _bror_.

Mathias exhaled shakily. 

“He was with me,” Mathias started. Emil looked at him, confused and a tad annoyed. “He was with me and he told me I couldn’t be Mathias Køhler anymore but… why?” Mathias looked up at Emil, who was visibly uncomfortable that this stranger was opening up to him so soon. Mathias felt sick. He felt like he was going to cry and scream and possibly throw up all at the same time but he didn’t know why. “Emil, do you know what happened at the train station?”

Emil's eyes widened at the question. This boy really knew nothing about the situation. Hell, they were both in the dark about the whole thing.“I’d read the note if I were you,” he replied, less commanding this time. Emil couldn’t have been older than fifteen. He was so fresh and sure of what he needed to do. He was naive. Mathias reached out and took the letter from Emil. He didn’t try to conceal the shakiness of his hands. He felt―no, knew―that something was wrong.

… 

Apparently, Emil loved to listen to Glenn Miller.

Mathias had sat in the kitchen for almost an hour now, and the only thing that Emil ever listened to was Glenn Miller. Mathias guessed it was because Miller’s music was usually very upbeat and rhythmic. It appealed to a cynical teen like Emil. He shimmied around the kitchen, grabbing various things from the icebox and pantry to incorporate the ingredients into whatever the hell he was cooking on the stove. Emil twirled, hopped, skipped, slid, and snapped his way from one end of the room to the other in a matter of notes. Despite the sickness he felt, Mathias smiled.

“Ever been to America, kid?” the Dane asked with a broad smile. Emil, who had two lemons and a salt shaker in his arms, turned to face Mathias and shook his head. “America seems fun, but it’s not where I’d wanna go,” he replied. He turned to go back to fussing with the stove. Mathias rested his head on his hand and smiled, confused.

“Oh? And why not?” he inquired.

Emil seemed to visibly stiffen up at the question. He shrugged and picked up the salt from the counter. “I don’t know… America is just… so loud. I’d get overwhelmed.”

Mathias leaned back in his chair and raised an eyebrow that Emil wouldn’t be able to see.

As Emil kept dancing around and focusing on the food he was making, Mathias kept finding himself drowning in his own thoughts. He let his eyes unfocus and kept his breathing steady. All he could think about was Lukas.

He pinched the paper in his hands, rubbing the two sides of the paper together. He still hadn’t opened it; why should he? Emil told him that Lukas would be home soon, and besides, talking was much better than reading. 

Mathias set the paper down and consequently caught the attention of Emil. Emil looked over his shoulder at Mathias, raising one pale eyebrow. “Why haven’t you read the note?” he asked in a slightly condescending tone. Mathias slouched over and sighed, keeping eye contact with the table. 

“I don’t know what’s on it. Lukas will be able to explain everything better than any note can,” he defended. He knew Emil was going to be biased because Lukas was his older brother and he had to listen to him. But frankly, Mathias didn’t care what Emil thought he should do. If he could explain the dread he felt in the pits of his gut, Emil wouldn’t want him to open the letter either. Mathias felt as though he was hungover. It’s like when you drink all night and wake up hungover―you can’t remember what exactly you drank last night, but the effects of drinking are there. Mathias didn’t know what had happened, but he felt sick to his stomach. He wanted to scream. He wanted to cry until he couldn’t cry anymore.

He looked at the lock on the wall. Six-seventeen. He sighed.

The kitchen smelled wonderful. The lemons Emil had cut up were now sizzling loudly on the pan. The tangy smell of lemons on the stove and a seasoned fish waiting to be put in the oven made Mathias’s mouth water. He hadn’t had anything to eat in the past two days for goodness sake. 

It was strange that Emil was doing all the cooking. Mathias usually didn’t care who was in the kitchen, but it did raise questions as to why Emil and Lukas’ parents weren’t home. More specifically, why wasn’t their mother home? Mathias looked back at the clock. Six-eighteen. Surely they should’ve been finished working already. 

Mathias looked around at the rooms. There was a coat rack in the foyer with a hat and a wool coat on it. In the living room, there was an ashtray next to the radio. On the old wooden bookshelf, there were cream-colored knitting needles resting there, collection dust. There were signs of adults in the house but… where were they?

Mathias was snapped back to reality when he heard Emil gasp and curse profusely. Mathias instantly returned his attention to Emil.

Emil held his left hand to his chest and cursed in a language that Mathias couldn’t understand. His face was contorted in pain, and he was looking around for something to help the burning. Mathias stood and hurried over to Emil, taking him to the icebox and directing his hand on the large piece of ice in there.   
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Emil said, resting his head against the icebox and shutting his eyes. “I’m so fucking clumsy and―argh!” He dug his fingernails into the ice.

Mathias had one hand on Emil’s back and the other holding his burnt hand onto the block of ice. “What the hell did you do?” he asked incredulously.

“I touched the inside of the oven when I was trying to put the damn fucking fish in,” Emil said through gritted teeth. He squeezed his wisteria colored eyes shut and shook his head. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what the fuck I’m even doing.”

Mathias watched him with concern. There was something else hurting him besides the burn. Emil’s free hand tugged at his hair anxiously and his feet tapped and twisted around each other like. He seemed angry with himself rather than with the burn on his hand. He seemed… lost… 

Emil and Mathias stayed like that for a while, Emil fidgeting and cursing under his breath and Mathias just standing with him, watching him. There was something so familiar about Emil’s body language and the way he was putting all the blame on himself, like getting burned wasn’t enough. He would open his eyes occasionally, but only so he could look away from Mathias. After Emil’s hand was back to its normal pale color instead of flaming red, Mathias let go. Emil turned his head to look at him but he was already off, opening up cabinets and searching for some sort of medicine cabinet.

“What are you doing?” Emil asked, narrowing his eyes at the blond Dane. Mathias pulled a gauze from the cabinet and the soap from the sink. “We have to clean it, don’t we?” he replied with all sincerity.

Mathias gestured to the table. “Sit.”

Still, Emil hesitated. He wasn’t sure why or what was making him so skeptical of this man who hadn’t done anything but help him. Mathias held eye contact with him, his bright sky blue eyes pleading with him until finally, Emil sat down at the wooden table.

Mathias pulled a chair closer to Emil and sat in front of him, taking his hand and examining it. Emil was impatiently waiting for him to say something. He was quiet now compared to earlier. Perhaps he was focused. Mathias’ luminous blue eyes stayed on Emil’s rather raw looking hand. Emil didn’t like starting conversations, and yet he decided to speak up because he hated awkward silence more than anything.  
“Since you’re here, where are your parents?” Emil asked in a shaky voice which faked confidence. Mathias kept his head lowered and worked the soap onto the burn. Thankfully the ice had numbed it enough that Emil no longer felt pain or rather, anything feeling at all. 

Mathias looked up, blowing a few stray, golden hairs out of his eyes.”Well, I… I’m not sure. I can’t remember a lot of what happened before I got here. I don’t even know why I passed out…”  
Emil raised an eyebrow. “Not to sound pessimistic, but if you passed out on your way here then something bad must’ve happened to put you in such shock that you passed out.”

Mathias’ cheek tugged and a small smiled formed on his face. His eyes didn’t meet Emil’s, but Emil could see the crippling optimism behind them. Emil wasn’t so much of an optimist himself, in fact, he considered himself a pessimistic realist. Optimism, in Emil’s eyes, was a coping method. It was something people relied on because they couldn’t fathom things getting any worse than they already are. Optimism was keeping false hope. 

Still, Mathias shrugged and smiled. “Or, maybe I didn’t have any breakfast that morning. Who knows?”  
“Lukas does,” Emil blurted out. “He actually tells you in the note he wrote you. The one I’ve been telling you to read.” Mathias visibly winced but kept cleaning Emil's hand nevertheless. There were times where Emil couldn’t keep his mouth shut. This was one of those times. He blurted out things that he knew were cruel and sometimes didn’t even mean. He knew his words were like ringing a bell. You can’t unring a bell. You can’t take back what you say.

Mathias picked up the gauze from the table and started to wrap it around his hand. His fingers were inept and gentle. He treated everything like porcelain-like if he held it too hard, it would shatter in his grasp. And yet here Emil was, taunting the boy like he was hurting him.

“I’m sorry,” Emil said in a voice louder than a whisper. Though his eyes were on the ground, he saw Mathias shrug dismissively. Sorry was never enough. Not for Emil.

“I’m an idiot sometimes, y’know?” Mathias said quietly. His voice was croaky. His accent, a mix of heavy Danish and a spritz of Dutch, attached itself onto words as they brushed over his tongue. “Sometimes I want to stay oblivious. I don’t want to know how hard life can be at times because it hurts. It’s either ignorant and happy or aware and afraid.” Emil looked up at him, his iridescent saucer eyes glowed with understanding. “Sometimes,” Mathias continued, “I want to stay happy.”

Emil stayed quiet. How could you respond to someone you barely knew pouring a portion of their heart out to you? Perhaps “barely knew” was an understatement. Emil felt as though Mathias was apart of his family after their lengthy talks. He didn’t know where Mathias was originally from. He didn’t know where he lived. He didn’t know his religion, his school, his hobbies, his favorite book, or his favorite color. What he did know was that Mathias was someone with a beautiful soul. Mathias was loving and kind. Mathias was going to be staying with them for a while. 

“Mathias,” Emil started. After thinking of all of the basic things that he didn’t know about this boy, perhaps he should get to know him. “What’s your family like?”

Mathias tied the gauze tightly. The ghost of a smile lingered on his face, like the warmth after a kiss. He rubbed the side of his face, perhaps to feel the five-o’clock shadow he was undeniably growing. He chuckled and rested his hand on his lap. “Well,” he began, “I am an only child. My parents had me in Denmark and we lived there until I was about six or seven. We moved to Belgium and… I met my unbiological sister there. That’s about it.” Pain danced over Mathias’ features at the mention of this “sister” of his. Emil decided to leave it be.

“I have a similar experience,” Emil said, trying to sound understanding. “My brother, Lukas, was born here. My mother married a Norwegian man, but he died when a ship on its way to India sank. He was a wealthy man who owned a trade business. He had so many ports all over the world…” Emil hesitated for a second, wondering if he sounded like he was trying to belittle Mathias. He didn’t mean to sound full of himself. Mathias’ eyes were glazed over, but he still nodded in understanding. Emil continued.  
“After he died, my mom and brother moved to Iceland for a short period of time. That’s where they met my dad. He’s a fisher from Iceland. They had me in 1925. He was so in love with my mom that she convinced him to come back to Norway so that we could all live together,” Emil explained. He didn’t try to hide the traces of nostalgia and sorrow that marked his features. He knew Mathias would see right through him anyway. 

“Were you happy?” Mathias asked.

Emil scoffed and smiled. “Of course I was. I was just a child, I didn’t understand sadness,” he said, smirking. “Lukas always kept me busy and was always such a big brother. My parents were always with me too. We were… content.”

Emil looked up at Mathias. Mathias’ watery blue eyes were so alive. Questions and connections whizzed across the blue window to Mathias’ mind. He stared, seemingly speechless, and yet so sure of what was wrong. Did Emil say something wrong? What had he let slip by?

“‘Were?’” Mathias inquired.

Emil let out a little gasp of air. He shouldn’t have said anything. He should’ve just let it go. Why did he have to run his stupid mouth? 

“I meant 'are',” he amended. “English can be difficult, to say the least.”

Mathias raised an eyebrow. “You speak perfect English, Emil. You have not made a single mistake the entire time I’ve known you.”

Shit, shit, shit, Emil thought. Mathias’ hand was flat on the table, the other resting in his lap. Emil always tried to look at people’s hands when he wasn’t sure what they were feeling. It was much easier than looking at someone’s face. Looks were deceiving. Hands always told the truth. Clenched fists meant angry. White fingers meant anxious. Shiny, sweaty palms meant nervous or afraid. Relaxed hands meant confident. Mathias could see right through his lie.

Emil got up from his chair, leaving Mathias to sit and watch him make his way towards the kitchen counter where various spice containers sat. Emil opened the cupboard and started putting the spices and herbs into their assigned spot in the cabinet. They were lined up in perfect formation like soldiers training for battle. Emil saw his reflection in the glass jars. He looked tired and afraid. His eyes were wide and the luminous violet seemed to glow with anxious energy. He clutched onto the countertop, wishing he wouldn’t have to eventually turn around to face Mathias. He felt like he was made of glass like everyone saw through him.

“What’s your cat’s name?” the Dane asked curiously. Emil was startled by the off-topic question but answered anyways.

“Her name is Ursula,” Emil replied.

“Who named her?”

Emil hesitated. “My father,” he whispered.

Emil kept his eyes locked on the blurring counter. His hands clenched the edge of the countertop so hard that they shook. Why did he keep pressing? What did he need to know? He tasted bile and tears in the back of his throat and struggled to keep them down. Mathias’ eyes burn through the back of his head, unrelenting, pushing Emil to tell him. 

Tears spilled down his face. “Where are you, parents?” Mathias asked in a soft, understanding voice. Emil shook with grief and anger. Mathias could never understand this. He was angry because Mathias could never understand what it was like to be Emil Bondevik-Steilsson. He could never understand him.  
Emil turned around to face Mathias. He didn’t care that there were hot angry tears in his eyes. He didn’t care if he was scowling and looking at Mathias in disgust. He didn’t care if he was being brash and thinking illogically. What did it matter?

“My mother’s uncle lives in Berlin. He told them to come there for his wife’s funeral. My parents left for Germany eight months ago,” Emil said through tears.

Mathias’ eyes were wide pools of indescribable blue. They always seemed changed shades of the same cerulean blue. When he was happy they light up like there were lights behind them. When he was acting serious, like now, they were so dark and solid it was hard to believe he was the same, Mathias.   
“And?” Mathias asked.

Emil couldn't even think of words. He just stood there, staring. 

“And what?”

“Do you know what happened to them? Are they…” Mathias hesitated. “Are they alive?”

Emil looked down. He could barely see through the tears. His entire body burned. His fear, his biggest fear, was coming true. Fear of the unknown. 

“I don't know,” Emil whispered to the ground. “I just don't know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so sorry for the wait! school is crazy and my free time is nonexistent. thank you all so very much for the encouraging and thoughtful comments―they truly make my day so much happier and brighter. as for this chapter, I hope you enjoyed reading. emil has a special place in my heart and it was quite a challenge to write him. and what about Lukas and Emil's parents? what do you think is going on?  
> thank you so very much for reading. I love you all, from the bottom of my heart.
> 
> love,  
> tate


	6. Butterfly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **“We can easily forgive a child who is afraid of the dark; the real tragedy of life is when men are afraid of the light.” —Plato**

**March 7, 1940 — Kristiansand, Norway**

Mathias had fallen asleep at the kitchen table.

The house was asleep. The rooms were dark save for some silver moonlight that poured through the windows of the cramped row home. The house was close to the docks, where ships swayed sleepily among the shiny steel ocean. The stars looked down on house tiredly. They blinked, fending off sleep as best as they could. It was peaceful tonight.

Lukas walked home hurriedly. He was huffing and puffing, trying to stay warm while walking him. He’d bundled up quite a bit, but he could still see his breath come out in perfect clouds of white air that hit his face as he hustled down the road.

Piles of snow glistening in the moonlight. Warm light laughs, and drunken singing drifted from the pub across the street. Lukas’ deep blue eyes were trained on the road, catching every identical pebble and giving it a note as he hummed. He did this a lot when he was out. Every pebble, crack, rock, and leaf had a note in his head. He’d hum the notes to himself until he had to walk back home. When he walked back home, Lukas hummed the tune backward. It was like leaving breadcrumbs behind. Like Hansel and Gretel, he thought.

Music was a good way to escape. When he was young, his mom taught him how to play the violin. Music was like a language. Once you learned how to speak it, you just couldn’t forget. He’d taught himself how to play different songs and even made his own. The breadcrumb-note tactic was how he discovered new melodies. Except now, walking down the road he walked down every night to get home, he felt as though he’d seen the same rock for the millionth time that night. He felt like he’d hummed the same note for hours.

Lukas couldn’t help but think about Mathias Køhler, the Danish boy back at his house. When Lukas had left early that morning, Mathias was still sound asleep in his bed. Lukas was starting to become worried. He didn’t know what was wrong, and nothing had happened that would’ve led to a coma. Unless Mathias had some sort of sensory issues that Lukas wasn’t aware of…

He pinched his fingers together to get him to stop thinking of Mathias. What about Emil?  
Emil was resilient and feisty enough to be by himself. What worried Lukas about Emil was how anxious and strung up he was about Mathias. He slept with a knife on his nightstand and refused to let Ursula anywhere near where Mathias was sleeping. Emil was cautious, which was understandable. Lukas worried himself, even. He had met Mathias for only about an hour. Now he was trusting that Mathias was going to be completely safe. It was all very strange and backward. Irresponsible, gullible older brother and cautious, aware younger brother. It didn’t seem right. 

Lukas looked around. He was nearing the bakery that meant he was only one right turn away from making it home. The small town was the only place Lukas ever knew, aside from Oslo and Reykjavik. He didn’t think that Oslo counted since he’d only been there for about two years of his life before he and Mother moved to Reykjavik. Reykjavik was more clear in his mind than Oslo. He remembered the eternal night that took over during the winter, the Northern Lights that illuminated the skies with hazy splashes of green and purple, and the whistling winds that bit at his face when he wasn’t looking. Iceland had been quite brutal for a four-year-old boy and his newborn brother. He enjoyed Iceland the most when they left it on that giant boat Lukas thought resembled a monster because of the portholes on the side. They stared at him liked the eyes of a beast. Not a welcoming ride, but they were back in Norway, nevertheless.

He rounded the corner and as he approached the brick rowhouse with the vibrant blue shutters, he saw that the kitchen curtains hadn’t been shut for the night. That’s odd, Lukas thought to himself. As he got closer, he saw why the curtains weren’t closed. Tufts of lengthy blond hair peeked out from under a turquoise wool blanket. The moon shone down on Mathias, making his hair looking like it was glowing at the tips where the strands were the blondest. His head was turned away from the window, and the only sign of life was the steady rise and fall of his chest under the blanket that kept him warm. Lukas’ heart thudded at the sight of Mathias. It was hard to say why. He brushed it off as shock and took out the key to unlock the door to the house.

When he stepped inside, he welcomed the warmth immediately. He shed his long coat, scarf, and mittens and hung them on the coat rack. He exhaled, his lungs expelling the bitter cold. He wasn’t worried about the bags he had been carrying. Mathias was somehow much more important as of now.

Lukas slowly tip-toed into the kitchen, careful not to make a sound or step on a creaky floorboard so as to wake the sleeping Dane up. Mathias must’ve woken up earlier that day. When Lukas left that morning, he had still been tucked away in the same bed he’d been in for almost a day and a half. He wondered how Emil reacted to Mathias waking up. Hopefully, there hadn’t been knives involved, Lukas would feel awful if Mathias was threatened by a fifteen-year-old after just waking up to find out that… 

Lukas felt his blood go cold. He’d have to know about his mother by now. Mathias was now aware that his mother had… had been murdered at the station. He’d know that as of now, he was an orphan, at least until they could find Mathias’ father.

If they could find Mathias’ father.

Lukas sat down in the chair across from Mathias. Mathias’ lips were opened ever so slightly. His lips were pink - the kind of pink you see in summer sunsets. A patch of freckles was dusted over the bridge of his nose and his pale cheeks. His eyelashes were much darker than his hair. They were dirty blond but so long and dark a girl would envy them. Mathias was quite literally sculpted to perfection. Lukas couldn’t find a single flaw no matter how long he looked at him. 

He forced himself to look away, instead staring at the night sky and connecting the twinkling stars with invisible lines. He thought about making some tea since he’d be up for a while. Lukas never did get to bed on time anymore. 

He took one last glance at Mathias before pushing his chair out and creeping over to the stove where a tea kettle was perched, waiting to be used. Lukas filled it with water and switched the stove on. While he waited, he checked the near-empty teabag jar. Only four bags remained, three of which were chamomile. A mint teabag was pushed up in a corner, not quite ready to be used yet. Lukas settled for soothing chamomile. It always did remind him of his mother.

The kettle started to whistle half-heartedly and Lukas quickly rushed over to take it off the stove before it screamed and steamed. The last thing Lukas wanted to do was wake the house up. 

He poured the tea into a mug and stirred the teabag around. He saw his reflection in the amber colored water and could almost pick out every tired detail of his face. Bags framed his too dark eyes. His lips were down-turned, as usual, and his hair was windblown and messy from the walk home. He scrunched his brows together and puckered his mouth. He relaxed his face, turning to examine himself at an angle. Lukas was quite enjoying the little tea-mirror time he was having a voice cut through the silent whisper of his mind like a knife.

“Why’ya making faces at the tea?”

Lukas neared dropped his mug. He looked over and saw Mathias, slouched over the table in a tired looking form. His eyes were more than half-lidded and his voice was deep, husky. The mess of hair on his head was falling out of its three-day-old mountain of grease and now strands of golden silk hung in his eyes. 

While Mathias continued to stare at the Norwegian boy, Lukas sighed and walked over to the table briskly. “Goodness, Mathias,” he started. “You nearly scared me to death.”

“Heh,” Mathias breathed, resting his head in his arms and shutting his eyes once more. “Better than saying nothin’ at all.”

Lukas rolled his eyes. He took his seat again at the table, this time with someone to talk to. “You know, I have a lot of questions for you, Dane,” he half-whispered. ‘Dane’ sounded more like an insult on Lukas’ tongue, which seemed to amuse Mathias, for he chuckled into his sweater sleeve.

“As do I, Norwegian,” Mathias smiled.

Lukas blew on his tea and brought the steaming hot mug to his lips. Mathias watched Lukas with those bluer than blue eyes that had captured Lukas’ attention from the second they had met. They were like orbs of light, gems just sitting in his skull. It was mesmerizing. But not mesmerizing enough for Lukas to forget his questions.

“When did you wake up?” Lukas asked, crossing his legs. He kept his eyes trained on Mathias, who lazily stretched his arms.

“Ahhhh,” Mathias sighed. He cracked his knuckles. “Well, if I had to guess, I’d say around, eh, eleven in the morning. It was rainy outside so I couldn’t really tell. I met Emil and your cat. Ursula, is it?” Lukas nodded and sipped the tea. He imagined the chamomile flowing through his veins and soothing him.

“Did Emil… um… freak out?”

Mathias shrugged, running a hand through his hair. “He pulled a knife, but can you blame him?” Lukas gasped and set his mug down on the wooden table. “Dammit, I told him no knives!”

Mathias smirked and continued to caress his all too greasy hair.

“Do you remember anything at all?” Lukas asked anxiously.

Mathias paused. Oh no, Lukas thought. His sky blue eyes glazed over in thought, but he quickly refocused back to Lukas. “I can’t remember anything after meeting you,” he said. “I remember your necklace.”

Lukas huffed and unconsciously placed his fingers over the cold metal around his neck. He looked to anywhere except Mathias’ face. 

“Well,” Lukas continued, audibly pissed. “My note―did you read it?”

That’s when Mathias’ smirk and pleasantly sleepy aura faded away into the starlit night. Lukas watched as his face went slack and his hand was paused midway through his hair. He stared at the ground, his eyes clearly unfocused, and didn’t reply. The look on his face said nothing. 

Lukas assumed he was saying yes.

There was a pause. Lukas stared at his tea and the steam billowing off the top of the hazel liquid. What was Lukas supposed to say? What was he going to do? He knew what it was like to lose a loved one, but the difference between Mathias and him was that Mathias’ mother was surely dead. Lukas however, still had hope.

“I am truly sorry,” Lukas said. He felt guilty for being so cold towards him. At least he didn’t stay ignorant of what was happening. He caught Mathias look up out of the corner of his eye. “There was nothing we could do.”

“What?” Mathias asked. Lukas and Mathias both looked up at each other, Bright blue hitting the deepest blue there ever was. They had the same look of confusion on their faces. “Wait,” Lukas proceeded, “you mean to tell me that you didn’t read my note?”

Mathias away and rubbed the back of his neck with his hand. Guilt. Lukas could now read it perfectly. He frowned at Mathias, showing no mercy to the stupid Dane even when Mathias looked like a kicked puppy. Lukas’ job just got about a hundred times harder because of this―this―

He sighed. Lukas knew he couldn’t stay mad at Mathias. His mother was murdered right in front of him and Mathias didn’t seem to remember any of it… Which meant that Lukas had to tell him now.   
Lukas visibly paled. His face took on a greenish tint and he looked dizzy, like he was going to pass out or throw up―maybe both.

He felt so dizzy, staring into the blurring pools of blue that were Mathias’ eyes. Everything around him was spinning. He held the table and closed his eyes. All he could see what Mathias’ mother getting shot― over, and over, and over… burgundy and black colored blood mixing together behind his eyes. And Mathias collapsing into his arms. 

He could hear Mathias talking to him, but he couldn’t understand his words. It was just the sound of his voice. The ocean without waves. 

Lukas would’ve stayed this way forever if Mathias didn’t literally start shaking him by his arms, telling him to snap out of it. Lukas was disoriented but he was so used to shutting down like this that it didn’t occur to him that, to Mathias, this wasn’t normal. When he looked into Mathias’ eyes he saw so much worry stare back at him. His cheeks grew hot and he looked away, pushing Mathias’ arms off of him not all that gently. He had only ever had panic attacks like that in front of Emil and the stupid cat. He felt embarrassed, especially since he was the one who had to hold it together for everyone. He sighed, crossed his arms, and slouched back into his chair. The tips of white-blond hair touched Lukas’ eyelids and obscured Mathias from his thoughtful gaze.

“Lukas?”

Lukas stiffened at the sound of his voice but replied nevertheless. “Yes?”

 

He saw Mathias shift in his seat. “There’s something you’re not telling me.”

Lukas scoffed and rolled his eyes. He was rubbing his fingers together, pressing them against each other hard. Lukas remembered when he was young he used to pick at his cuticles all the time, especially when he was in school or when he had to talk to someone other than his family. Nervous habits spoke a thousand words about a person, he believed. But it seemed since the moment Lukas had set eyes on him, Mathias didn’t show that he had any nervous habits. He was just existing, not coping. No habits to help. Did that make him uninteresting? 

Lukas rubbed his neck and tapped his right collarbone. The floor had his full attention. “You are right,” he said slowly, carefully, as to not spark any questions. “But, I will tell you what you need to know. All you have to do is ask.”

After a long period of silence, Lukas was compelled to look up at the Danish boy. Mathias seemed to be fighting with himself. The moonlight hit his face at angles, making his sharp features even more prominent. The room was swelled in silver light. It drowned out the olive green cabinets, the yellow interweaved in the curtains and the red candles in the window sill. The rainbow of color that existed within the Bondevik’s house was now minimized to gray and silvers. Dust particles swirled into Lukas’ vision. He wondered if Mathias could see the same things as he did. He wondered if Mathias noticed all the little things that made the Bondevik’s house, the Bondevik’s house. 

Mathias rubbed the side of his face and laughed pitifully. Lukas’ attention now flicked over to Mathias. Was that his nervous habit―rubbing his face?

“You should just tell me,” Mathias started, still smiling though it was extremely out of place. “Whatever it is, I’ve been avoiding it. And if we’re gonna trust each other then we need to tell each other the truth.”

Lukas stared at him after he had finished. He wished that Mathias already knew and that he didn’t stay so blissfully ignorant. Lukas decided to put Mathias’ nervous habit to the test and drag his hand down his face, pulling at his pale skin and digging his nails into his cheeks. He breathed out. 

“When we were at the train station,” he started quietly, “the Germans were looking for you. It was very… strange. You seemed so oblivious and cheery that it was hard to imagine you on the German’s hit-list.”

Mathias cut in. “I still don’t understand why I was being called. I thought my father had a higher chance than I did―I’m only nineteen, I haven’t done anything. I hadn’t ever left Belgium until just a few days ago. I don’t even remember Denmark. Why do they want me?”

“Slow down,” Lukas chided, gesturing for him to take it easy. “I’m not saying that you did anything―I trust you. You’re completely oblivious―”

“I wouldn’t say completely―”

“But you clearly know something. So right now you need to lay low. Anyways, you were called along with a few other men, but obviously we―I mean, you― were not going to h=just hand yourself over to the SS. So, I started to help you through the crowd and we got pretty far. We were very close to the exit of the station, but… there was a lot of rustling and… and…”

And Lukas blanked. How does one go about saying, “and your mother was grabbed and shot.” How was Lukas supposed to prepare himself and Mathias for such a blow? Just thinking about anyone’s parents dying is eerie. Lukas had always imagined his parents as invincible. He thought that they were beings of magic and that the old Norse gods had hand-crafted them just for Lukas. Now granted, Lukas’ biological father was long dead, but what about his stepfather? What about his own biological mother? How was he to tell Mathias that his mother, handcrafted by the Norse gods specifically for him, was shot down and murdered before his very eyes?

When he looked up at Mathias, he was met with such a jarring look that he almost jumped. There was so much pain in Mathias’ eyes. So much dead hope jumping, running like a chicken with its head cut off. Lukas needed to say something.

“In the commotion, your mother was looking for you,” he started. He looked Mathias in the eyes. He wasn’t going to stare at the wooden floor any longer. If Mathias deserved anything right now, it was this small gesture of respect. “I assume she thought that she had seen you and went up to be with you, or she was fighting with one of the Germans… there are so many things that could have happened. She was grabbed by the arm and they held her still and…” Lukas took a deep breath. “They shot her and killed her.”

It was hard to look at Mathias now. His dreamy blue eyes seemed to shatter like glass. His face sagged and the hope that danced behind his iridescent eyes riveted down his cheeks in the form of tears. Mathias put his hand on his head and started tugging at the strands. He looked so defeated and upset that Lukas was startled when he started to laugh through the quiet sobs.

“Where’d they shoot her?” he asked through tears of crystal. At this point, he was a sniffling mess. “Please tell me not the heart. Please, please.” Lukas stared at him with those deep blue eyes. He could see the picture-perfect image of a young boy with disheveled honey-colored hair pressing his face against his mother’s chest and listening to the consistent beating that seemed impossible to stop. To imagine you mother dying was impossible. To imagine your mother being murdered was impossible. For it to actually happen was the most real thing that could ever happen to anyone.

“The stomach,” Lukas choked out. “She died quickly Mathias, she didn’t feel any pain for too long.” His voice was trembling and cracking. Oh god, what to say to someone who witnessed murder.

Mathias heaved even louder. Lukas watched him clutching the table and he forced air into his lungs. He couldn’t stop crying. Lukas could see that he physically could not stop himself from crying. And maybe it was for the best. Maybe it was best to let this avalanche of pain and grief out now rather than push it down until it consumed him; until it killed him. 

 

But what he started crying and he never stopped? What if this pain didn’t end. Because surely, if death was eternal, then this pain would live forever.

“Mathias,’ Lukas said, controlling the fear in his voice. Mathias didn’t look up. He stared at the table, sucking in air as the tears tumbled down his splotchy red face. Lukas stood, shaking, and walked over to Mathias. Without thinking, he threw his arms around Mathias’ back and held him tightly, as though he was trying to squeeze the hurt out of his body. As though he was trying to keep the boy from caving in on himself. He rested his head on Mathias’ back and pressed his ear against his feverish skin. Mathias’ heart was racing, tripping over itself, tumbling down a rocky cliff and hitting every bump along the way. Lukas almost gasped at how erratic and inconsistent Mathias’ heartbeat was. 

Lukas felt Mathias moving, perhaps to pull away. Lukas loosened his grip, but instead of being released, he was pulled closer, this time facing into Mathias’ chest. His eyes were wide. He stared out the window and into the night sky where the moon and the stars patiently waited for them. Mathias kept pulling Lukas until Lukas was sitting in his lap, his legs almost straddling Mathias, and his arms knit tightly around his broad, muscular shoulders. Lukas’ heart was racing faster that Mathias’. He held onto Mathias tightly, as if to show him that he was still alive and still here on the Earth. His touch conveyed the message, saying ‘Look, you’re still here. I’ll be your anchor to this place; I’ll keep you grounded.’

Mathias inhaled. Exhaled. Inhaled. Exhaled. His breaths were slowing. Lukas kept his head against his chest and listened as his heart tripped and slowed down. When his heart slowed to its normal pace, Lukas pulled back gently and looked up at Mathias.

Their eyes locked and Lukas felt himself blush. Mathias’ gaze was tired, his face red and puffy from crying. His sky blue eyes had turned aquamarine with slivers of green. The moon made the streams of tears running down his face shimmer like silver. His long dark lashes stuck together.

He stared down at Lukas for a while before looking out of the window. “I don’t have any family left it seems,” he whispered. His voice crackled like a fire. “My father is missing. My mother is dead. Emma is in America, and I’m stuck in Norway, crying like a pathetic…” He trailed off, his eyes watering again. Lukas reached out, wiping away the tears from his face. His actions felt like they didn’t belong to him. He’d never been so empathetic towards anyone. Not likes this.

“Mathias,” he said quietly. The Danish boy looked down, almost surprised that Lukas was still there embracing him. “I know that you feel like you’re alone. I know you feel like you have to do this alone, but I’m here. Emil is here. We can be your family. We can help you. Please, let me - let us do this.”

Mathias’ eyebrows came together in disbelief. More tears dripped down his chin and onto his sweater. He shut his eyes against the world and exhaled shakily. When he looked back down at Lukas, he gave the smallest smile. Mathias moved his hands cupped Lukas’ cheek. Lukas heartbeat sped up, wondering what on Earth Mathias was going to do. He ever so slowly brought Lukas’ forehead to hip pale, chapped lips, and with the delicacy of a butterfly landing on a flower, kissed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updated! Currently working on the next chapter. Hope you all liked this, and if you did, leave a review, it helps me more than you can imagine. I love you all, happy Passover, and happy Easter. <3
> 
> much love,  
> Tatie


	7. Escape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **"To simply wake up every morning a better person than when I went to bed.” —Sidney Poitier**

**March 8, 1940 — Kristiansand, Norway**

Lukas woke up feeling hungover.

To wake up when your body isn’t ready to be awake is hard, to say the least. His eyes felt glued shut and his limbs whined when he forced them to move. He sat on the edge of the bed, legs swaying and vision blurring. Everything in his room was dark because of the blackout curtains. The warmth of the room made it feel like he was suffocating. 

His feet touched the ground, fiery bare skin against the icy cold of the wooden floors. In a haze, he walked to his dresser drawers and pulled out a worn, pale blue button up, and tan corduroy pants that used to belong to his father. Lukas’ entire closet was mainly hand-me-downs from either his biological father or Emil’s father. And Emil’s closet was made entirely of hand-me-downs from Lukas. They weren’t always wearing old clothes, though. On the occasion that they had enough money to splurge, the two boys often bought new clothes so they didn’t look as though they were stuck in the 20s.

Lukas stripped his wool sweater off. An uncontrollable chill swept through his body and goosebumps prickled his pale skin. He quickly shrugged on the button-up, and his shaky fingers went to work, sliding every button in place. He was halfway dressed when he heard a sound like a groan come from his bed. Lukas’ attention immediately snapped to the noise. His sheets moved like waves rippling through the ocean. Did Ursula sleep in my bed, he wondered. But it couldn’t have been Ursula; the thing under the sheets was too big and too human to be such a small house cat. No, it wasn’t Ursula. Lukas’ ears rang, and a name formed on his mouth as he saw a pop of blond, messy hair come from under the covers.

“Mathias!” Lukas gasped, buttoned his shirt up quickly. Mathias was dazed, blinking and looking around the dark room. Lukas rushed towards him and grabbed his burning arm. He was so warm. His blood was lava, his skin was fire, and his face glowed like the sun in the dark room. Mathias recognized Lukas through his tired eyes. His dark brows came together.   
“Lukas?” he asked dreamily as Lukas desperately pulled him out of his bed. Mathias stumbled out and stood, swaying like a tree in the wind. Lukas’ face was a burning pink sunset. 

He didn’t dare look at Mathias. He ignored the Dane’s protests and pulled him to the door, promptly pushing him out of his room. Mathias looked confused, if not slightly offended, and raised his arms in question. “The hell, Lukas?”

Lukas sighed, looking down so Mathias wouldn’t see his face. “I’m changing, you idiot. You can’t sleep in my room anymore.”

Mathias put a hand on his hip. A strand of dirty hair fell into his eyes. “Well, where the hell d’you want me to sleep? The kitchen?” For once, he was the exasperated one, and Lukas was the embarrassed and annoyed one. Why was Lukas so embarrassed? He had a brother almost his whole life, so why was he so awkward and—

He groaned loudly and pointed towards the small bathroom that was across the hall. “Go take a bath, you reek. We’re going out,” he ordered. Mathias tilted his head like a confused puppy. He stepped into the doorway, leaning against the frame and looking down at Lukas with curious blue eyes.

“Going where, exactly?”

Lukas’ face was bright red. “To find our families, idiot.” Lukas caught a glimpse of surprise light up Mathias’ features before he slammed the door shut, locked it, and fell back into his warm bed, exasperated and embarrassed. From outside his door, he heard Mathias mumbling to himself, probably complaining about how Lukas had bruised his arm or something stupid. Mathias left to go clean himself off and find new clothes to wear. And somewhere inside his room, Lukas was smirking, still thinking of the Danish boy.

… 

Mathias scrubbed every inch of his body so hard that he was sure he’d bruised himself. 

When he was done washing/bruising his body, he splashed out of the bath and wrapped a towel around his waist. The mirror was fogged with steam, and the bathroom was a mini-sauna of sorts. He ran a hand through his wet hair and walked down the hall. 

Mathias had nowhere to go it seemed. Lukas had already kicked him out once, and Emil was still carrying a knife on him at all times of the day, making sure that Mathias wasn’t a lunatic. He huffed and went into a closet in the hallway.

It smelled of mothballs and dust. There were thick wool coats hanging from the rack that brushed his body uncomfortably. He just wanted a room.

After he was done changing into the clothes Lukas had given him, Mathias stepped out of the cramped closet and went into the bathroom to look at himself in the mirror.

The navy blue sweater was warm and cozy, and it didn’t itch thanks to the layer Mathias was wearing under it. He was so sick of being cold in this frigid weather, that he stole an undershirt from Lukas and squeezed into it. Though it was extremely tight on him, he wasn’t swayed. He was warm. The dark brown slacks that Mathias wore were slightly too big for him, so he rolled them once and let them rest over his plain Oxfords. Thank goodness he still had his shoes. And finally, Lukas had given him a thick scarf, his black leather gloves, and long black overcoat that came to Mathias’s mid-calves. He had been especially excited about the coat. It made him look like Sherlock Holmes. It was warm too, and that was all that mattered.

Mathias turned to examine himself more. He looked into his own clear blue eyes and smiled. He spun, gave a finger gun, and winked. 

“Ladies, please,” Mathias said to his reflection with a sly grin. “There’s enough of me to go around.”

He pulled the lapels of his coat around him, threw his shoulder back, ran a hand through his hair, and spun around so fast, he landed facing the doorway and saw a rather amused Emil looking back at him. Mathias jumped, his hand catching onto the towel rack.

“We’re going down the street, not to New York City,” Emil said with a laugh. 

“Emil,” Mathias whined. “You really scared me.”

“Yeah, and I think you scared all the women within a hundred mile radius with that little fashion show,” he teased. His violet eyes twinkled with joy. Mathias almost wanted to smile back at the glowing angel of a kid, but he was far too embarrassed, and his cheeks were flaming.

“Where are we going?” Mathias asked, trying to switch the subject.

Emil leaned in the doorway and hummed. “Well… we’re going to a friend’s…”

Mathias nodded, egging him on. “Okay… and who is this ‘friend’?” he questioned, doing air quotes. 

Emil looked at the ground, his eyebrows furrowing. “She… isn’t legally supposed to be here. But she lived in... a place where we can’t be, so we’re going to ask her for some help.” Emil was hesitating and finding loops around words Mathias knew he wasn’t supposed to hear.  
“Emil, that doesn’t make any sense.”

“Well, it will. But you have to trust Lukas and me,” Emil stated, his voice rising with determination. Before Mathias could respond, Emil opened his mouth to speak again. “We’re leaving in two minutes. Come down when you’re done dancing.”

Emil turned to walk away from Mathias, but before he could leave Mathias called out. “Wait!”  
Emil turned on his heel, hands in his pocket. He wasn’t dressed very warm. He only wore a patterned sweater and a long, thin overcoat. Mathias felt his cheeks warming up with what the question entailed, but decided to ask anyway.

“Is she single?”

Emil smirked knowingly. He turned away again, making his way down the stairs. “Hardly,” he responded.

… 

Lukas didn’t look up when he walked down the grey, cobblestone streets. He liked to keep his head down watching his feet move in front of him.

Mathias looked around the streets, taking in every washed out detail of the small little town that Lukas and Emil cooped up in. Sure, it was quaint and had nicely paved cobblestone streets and a busy dock that was hoarded with men all shouting to each other. But aside from that, everything was quite dreary. All of the houses were the same stormy ocean color. All of the clouds clustered to keep the sun from ever touching a blade of grey, withering grass. Even the kids in the streets played with a depressed, blue ball. The pink in their cheeks was the only red seen for miles. Mathias ran a hand through his hair, still getting used to the fact that it was clean. He wondered if summers were ever going to be full of color again. 

Lukas turned on a street, (still not looking up, of course,) and went straight towards the small row home at the corner of the road. Behind them, a car honked loudly and sped away, spraying water at their feet. Mathias gasped at the loud noise, but Emil remained strangely calm. Mathias was on edge, to say the least. 

Lukas rang the buzzer and quickly shoved his hand back into his pocket. The bitter wind from the sea was picking up and spraying salt water and ice through the air. Mathias watched Lukas’ foot tap impatiently. His fingernails were digging into his cuticles. He was nervous.

After almost two minutes of waiting, the door creaked open ever so slightly, and a small palm held its hand out. Lukas took a piece of paper from his coat pocket and pressed it into the small hand with such discreteness, Mathias wasn’t quite sure if Lukas had even given the hand paper at all. The door shut. Mathias’ eyebrows came together.

“What is this?” he asked in a whisper. Lukas looked up at him with those big, deep blue eyes, and shushed him.

“Protocol,” Emil answered, standing beside Mathias.”You’ll understand soon.”

Mathias felt his heart freezing up, not because of the weather, but rather because he knew that whatever was happening, was extremely dangerous. He pinched his fingers together and tried to regulate his breathing.

After one more painfully prolonged minute, the door creaked open again, only this time, no one was behind it. Lukas looked behind him, twice, and slipped inside quietly. Emil followed his movements, just the swish of his head, and then inside he went. Mathias figured that the coast was clear after two times of checking them, and decided to slip inside right on Emil’s tail.

Once inside, Mathias’ eyes took a minute to adjust. Everything was dimly lit, and traces of cigarette smoke loomed above their heads. Lukas led the group through the hall and towards an open room where the walls were lined with bookshelves. Mathias noticed no pictures or paintings of any kind hanging on the walls. Not even a family photo was present. His mind wandered to different explanations.

Once inside the rooms full of books, Mathias smelled fresh cigarettes and some sort of vintage, floral perfume lingering in the air Two Tiffany lamp fixtures were propped at either end of the room. A blush pink velvet chaise longue sat in the middle of the room. Next, to it, a table with an ashtray was propped, and shoved into the corner of the room was an overflowing desk full of papers and books. The most out of place thing in the entire room, however, was a woman looking out of the only window in the room. She had unfashionably long, wavy hair that touched mid-spine. She wore a short-sleeved cream colored blouse that had tiny, slightly puffed sleeves. Her blouse was tucked into a tight-fitting pencil skirt, and she wore sheer black tights. A pair of black heels was propped next to her. Cigarette smoke rose from behind her and fogged the windows.

Lukas cleared his throat and spoke up. “Eliza?”

The woman turned at the sound of her name, emotionless at first. But as her eyes landed on Mathias, she narrowed them into slits and almost seemed to growl.

“Why,” she started, “on God’s green earth, would you bring a visitor to my house?” Her voice was low, seething with fury. Mathias took note of the accent that lingered on her words and tried to guess where she was from. It was a mix of Eastern European and… German?

Lukas held his hands up, gesturing for her to take it easy. “He’s a friend.”

“He could be your long-lost son to me for what he’s worth. I want him out.”

Mathias’ caught sight of Emil stepping in front of him, almost protectively. He wanted to laugh; Emil was considerably shorter than Mathias, and yet he was shielding him from… from a woman, Mathias had never met before. Who was this lady?

Lukas sighed and walked over to her. Her green eyes flickered, the light from the window making them look sunken into her skull. Mathias noted the bags under her eyes and the ashes that stuck to her skirt. Mathias knew what stress looked like. He yearned for a cigarette.  
Lukas spoke to her in a low, inaudible voice. She didn’t look at the Norwegian boy and instead kept her furious gaze locked on Mathias. Her jaw was set so rigidly, Mathias wasn’t sure if she was made of bones or steel. Her stare was enough to make him was to crack like porcelain.

At last, Lukas finished speaking to her. She inhaled deeply and bit the inside of her lip. 

Hesitation and consideration raced across her eyes for a split second before disappearing into nothingness. Mathias wondered what Lukas had said to win her over.

“Fine,” she replied to Lukas in a low voice. It was softer now, not quite sweet or caring, but she wasn’t growling through her teeth anymore. “But I want to speak with him alone.”

At this, both Lukas and Emil turned to look at Mathias, brandishing their big eyes in his direction. Mathias caught hold of Lukas’ stare. His deep blue eyes were the size of saucers. Something inside of him was worried, and yet he knew that this was the way it had to be. Mathias was troubled at that moment. His eyebrows came together and he gave Lukas a confused look. Lukas looked down. “Emil and I will be in the kitchen,” he said quietly. Mathias’ wide eyes were locked tight onto Lukas as though he was desperately trying to keep him in the room. Lukas didn’t so much as spare him a glance.

The two walked out of the room, Emil lingering for a moment to give Mathias a small, encouraging smile. Mathias would’ve felt comforted had Emil’s eyes not been wide with worry. He held his breath until the door shut, sealing him away.

He turned towards the woman. Her head was cocked, and she looked as though she was sizing him up. Mathias exhaled and resisted the urge to run a hand through his hair.

Finally, the woman walked over to her desk that was shoved into the corner and collapsed into the seat. She looked exhausted. Her hard shell exterior seemed to fall away.

“Sit down,” she said wearily. Her hand was settled against the arm of her chair and she held her head up, tugging at chestnut colored curls as though she was making sure they were still there. 

Mathias uncomfortably sat in the chair across from her desk. His eyes traced over the papers that littered the desk, lingering over the edges of pictures and downturned frames. 

She reached across the pile and excavated a tube of lipstick. The cap popped off with ease and she examined the rogue makeup in between her fingertips. Mathias watched her carefully, taking note of the way her shoulders seemed to droop as her eyes touched every part of the tube.  
“I’m not from Norway,” she started, spinning the tube in her fingers. “But I figured you picked that up already.”

“Takes one to know one,” Mathias responded quietly.

Her eyes flickered up, and for the first time since he’d met her, she gave a small smile. “Still, you seem more in place than me.”

From her desk drawer, she produced a pack of cigarettes. She politely offered Mathias one. He gingerly took it from her and let her light it in his mouth. It’d been too long since his last cigarette, and he’d been craving one since he’d first arrived in this godforsaken country.

“I’m not usually this strung up,” she started, taking the cigarette from her mouth and letting the smoke pour from her matte red lips. She reminded Mathias of a dragon. “When I was little, I used to be so strung up over everything. My papa would always chide me, saying ‘Elizaveta, there is no need to work so hard when there is always tomorrow to mend our mistakes.’ Terrible advice.”

“Your name is Elizaveta?” he blurted out. Elizaveta’s eyes shot over towards him, and he regretted asking. Her gaze softened and she nodded hesitantly.

“Yes, Elizaveta is my full name. Don’t spread my name anywhere,” she commanded. Mathias nodded quickly, wondering why Lukas was allowed to call her 'Eliza'.

“I’m Mathias,” he replied with a small, forced smile. Her hard stare disintegrated, and the shadow of a grin brushed her lips.

“Anyways, like I said, I’m not usually this strung up. However, your little friends Lukas and Emil have been drilling me to do their so-called ‘dirty work.’ And no offense, but I could not give a rat’s ass about what they want me to do for you. I have other priorities, and finding missing parents isn’t at the top of my to-do list.” Elizaveta took a drag of the cigarette and coughed out the smoke, waving her hand in front of her face.

Mathias’s eyebrows came together. “You’ve been helping Lukas and Emil find their parents?”

Elizaveta nodded as though discussing missing people was a casual conversation topic. She was practically inhaling her entire cigarette at this point, only talking in between long drags. “They’ve been coming to me because... “ she trailed off and shook her head, seemingly annoyed with herself. “Let’s just say I know what happens when people go missing in Germany.”

Mathias sat back in his seat and exhaled the smoke. He felt the nicotine rushing to his fingertips. The red lipstick sat in front of him on the desk. He rubbed his fingers together.

“My mother was killed,” he said, staring at the lipstick. Mathias remembered the way she used to swipe her lips with color right before his father came in from work. They would kiss, and her lipstick would leave rose-colored marks all over his father’s face. Mathias’ eyes unfocused and he looked down. “The uh... Germans killed her. They were looking for me for whatever reason, and I ran. She’s dead because I ran. My father is missing because I ran. I don’t know what that means to you, but to me, it means I have to find my family. So I would like some help if you could offer any.”

She eyed him again, concern making her eyes flutter. Elizaveta sighed and pulled at her hair again. From her desk, she picked up a picture and looked at it with a deadpan expression. She set it on the desk face-down and returned her gaze to Mathias. There was no opening a locked chest like Elizaveta, even Mathias knew that. Whatever she was thinking, it wasn’t about Mathias.

“I could help,” she began in a low voice, “but I don’t have any reason to. I have no reason to risk my life for someone I don’t even know.”

Mathias took a deep breath. Sorrow was replaced with anger. It pulsed inside his chest and shot sparks through his bones. “Then let me tell you about myself so you can get to know me better,” he started in a clear, more confident tone. “Maybe you’ll want to help me then.”

Elizaveta narrowed her sharp green eyes at him. Mathias noticed that the makeup around her eyes was smudged and quite messy. Her mascara had blotted onto her eyelids and beneath her eyes. The light brown powder that was dusted over her lids was smudged too. Had she been rubbing her eyes? “Fine. Tell me about your oh-so-interesting life.”

How could she be so conceited? Her tone made it sound as though she had been handed hell, and now she got to brag about her terrible life. Mathias shut his eyes, trying to imagine what it felt like to be so conceited. _Everyone had been given hell_ , he wanted to say. 

“My family is from Denmark, but we moved to Belgium after I was born,” he started in a rushed tone. He just wanted to get all of the main events of his circus of a life out of the way. “My parents bought a farm in the countryside, west of Brussels. We lived in Belgium for as long as I could remember. I went to a Catholic school in a small town; I never made any friends at that school. My best friend was my neighbor who lived up the road from our farm in a very, very big house that her great-grandparents had built in the 1800s. We grew up together, and I moved away because my parents didn’t want to be in Belgium any longer. They feared it wasn’t safe.”

Mathias stopped abruptly and looked up at Elizaveta. He had been rambling for a short time, and yet he felt like there was nothing else to say. 

Elizaveta took one more drag from her cigarette before dropping it daintily in the ashtray next to her lamp. Her eyes were half-lidded, and she watched him as though she were trying to examine every detail of his face.

“Your parents were right to leave,” she commented. “There’s no denying that Belgium is going to be annexed.”

Mathias’ eyes flickered up at this. “Do you know this for a fact?”

She scoffed and rolled her eyes. “In my line of work, yes, it’s a fact. I have to be prepared for anything.”

“So, in theory, there’s a possibility that Belgium won’t be annexed?”

Her eyes drifted over to him. She was clutching the edge of her desk so hard that her fingers went white. The cigarette seemed to be helping with her stress, and yet Mathias wasn’t sure if cigarettes would ever be enough for someone like Elizaveta. “In theory, Belgium doesn’t stand a chance against Germany.”

Mathias sat back in his seat and let his shoulder slouch. He wondered what his barn would look like overrun by red flags and the smell of death. He imagined the Germans turning it into some sort of military base, or communication center. The hay bales would be replaced with giant systems of communication, with men tapping buttons and listening closely to intercept messages between their enemies. 

Would they be able to listen so far that they could trace back to the endless conversations that Mathias and Emma had in that barn? Would they be able to tap into the memories that lived in that barn? Would they be able to listen to the soundtrack of the night that she left him? Mathias bit his lip hard so as not to tear up just from the mere thought of his Emma living so very far from him, and perhaps never coming home.

He laughed. He had called her “his Emma.”

“What is it?” Elizaveta asked him. He snapped his gaze back to the woman and quickly shook his head so as to brush away her simple question.

“Nothing,” he replied, sounding so very hollow. He swallowed his spit in an attempt to fill himself. 

“I know that look, Mathias,” Elizaveta chided. “Is it your parents?”

“Like you’d care,” he retorted with venom in his tone. “You just told me that you didn’t care what happened to mine or Lukas and Emil’s parents.”

Elizaveta's eyebrows pinched together in concern like she was surprised that she’d ever say those words. “I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “I didn’t mean to come off as though I didn’t care. I have a lot on my plate, what with the Third Reich and my own personal matters.”

Mathias was squinting hard, his eyes still blurred with tears that would not leave his blue eyes alone. The thought of Emma kept consuming him. “It doesn’t matter,” he stated with finality.

Elizaveta’s green eyes were full of remorse. Mathias saw her fingers starting to twitch, and he would’ve been worried if he wasn’t so distracted. 

He just wanted to leave this stupid room and go back home. And not to Lukas and Emil’s home; he wanted to go back to Belgium, where everything was doused in a curtain of gold, and it was never this bitterly cold.

She leaned on her palm and kept her eyes resting on Mathias; she was eerily calm, and when she began to speak, her voice was smooth like honey. “I used to live in Budapest. My parents were never good to me,” she started wistfully. Mathias looked up at her, his interest now completely on Elizaveta. “After my mom died, my father was convinced he'd find her at bottom of a bottle… He never really took great care of me. I remember when I was little, I had just started ballet, and I begged him to come to my recital. He promised he would and then he never showed. I think even at that age, I knew that he wasn’t someone I could rely on. I wished I had siblings so I would have someone to talk to. I was so lonely back then. But, when I was eighteen, I was asked to go to Austria and join the ballet. So I left my father and went to Austria.”

She paused for a moment, taking the time in between her thoughts to glance at the picture frame on her desk. Mathias wondered what it was a picture of.

“All of the ballerinas apart of the ballet lived under the same roof. After dinners together, I used to wonder why I had wanted siblings in the first place. I was… nothing like these girls. They were brought up in opulent houses in the cities, their education consisting of the identification of perfumes and how to tell if a wine was better fresh or aged. My father was a lumberjack who isolated himself in a dilapidated house outside of Budapest. When he wasn’t downing whiskey and vodka, he taught me how to swing an ax and start a fire. I didn’t know what taffeta was, or even how to braid hair. I learned how to tie knots and sew flannel to stay warm. There was a rift between the other ballerinas and I. We were all ballerinas, yes, but I wasn’t dancing for good posture and beautiful costumes.” Elizaveta’s eyes were glassy with memories. “I danced because it was my escape.”

Mathias tried to imagine her wearing ballet slippers and biting her lip as she jumped across the stage and spun away from the crowd of girls she so desperately wished to follow.

She looked up at Mathias and tilted her head slightly. Her green eyes were so big and vibrant he was sure that there were forest leaves in them. “What was your escape, Mathias?”

Mathias lowered his eyes, and finally, the teardrops that were lingering there fell into his lap. He looked at his palms through a blur and told her the only answer he knew: “Emma.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello gang!
> 
> sorry for my absence. the inspiration to continue this story recently came to me at the beginning of this week, and i was able to whip out this chapter pretty quickly! basically, i'm justing writing to say that THIS STORY WILL NOT BE ABANDONED!!! updates may be spaced out, but i'm going to finish it for sure.
> 
> thank you so much for your endless support and sweet comments. they really help me to keep updating!
> 
> love and sunshine,  
> tatie


	8. The Start

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **“A nightingale does not stop singing its beautiful song at the intrusion of an annoying woodpecker. Whenever you should doubt your self-worth, remember the lotus flower. Even though it plunges to life from beneath the mud, it does not allow the dirt that surrounds it to affect its growth or beauty.”**  
>  –Suzy Kassem  
> 

When Elizaveta opened the door for them to enter, Lukas was sure he was going to push past his little brother and Hungarian woman just so he’d be able to get to Mathias.

However, when Elizaveta opened the door, causing Lukas’ heart to flutter, he only stared with huge, dark eyes, and tried to breathe as evenly as he could.

As soon as Eliza asked to speak with Mathias alone, Lukas knew what he was in store for the truth.

 _No_ , she would refuse. _I will not find your father_.

And yet he still wanted to be there with Mathias when it happened. He wanted to desperately shield him from the fact that his father would likely never return to Mathias. He wanted to tell Mathias that, even though his mother and father were gone, that he and Emil would be his family for as long as he needed. 

Lukas knew Eliza was a shot in the dark, but he wished so desperately that she’d take the chance for Mathias.

It took about half of a minute for Lukas to swallow his nervousness and approach the door. He felt Emil’s presence warm on his back. 

“Go on, Lukas,” Emil insisted, nudging him.

Lukas took a shaky breath and turned quickly away from the door, shaking his head. “I can’t. Not again.”

Emil’s eyebrows came together and he looked at his older brother incredulously. “You have to be there for him. We have to be there for him.”

“I can’t do it again. I can’t see him like that again.” Lukas’ hands were shaking and fidgeting in his pockets. He pinched his finger together. “When he found out he lost his mom…”

“This isn’t a choice,” Emil persisted. His frosty hair was swept across his forehead, sticking to the skin in a sheen of cold sweat. He brushed him away hastily. His huge purple eyes bored into Lukas’ pale skin. “He’s lost everything, we have to give him hope.”

Lukas shook his head again, his bottom lip quivering with a mix of fear and cold. “I can’t give him something I don’t have.”

Emil froze. He looked at Lukas, shock taking his features and holding them stiffly in place. He scoffed and shook his head after almost a minute, and pushed his way past his brother. Their shoulders collided briefly and Emil was walking towards Mathias. Lukas looked at the ground, tapping his foot and pinching his fingers so he didn’t start to cry.

He heard murmuring inside. Mathias’s deep, raspy voice was a crackling fire which Emil warmed up to. He wondered how they had gotten to be so acquainted after only a few hours. Emil never opened up this quickly. Not since the last time… 

A thought suddenly crossed Lukas’ mind: was Emil crushing on Mathias?

He exhaled sharply, turned and entered the room of people.

Elizaveta was writing something at her desk. Her pen looped and swirled, dragging ink across the perfectly lined paper. Her hair had gone from lush waves dangling in her eyes to prim, tied back curls. Bobby-pins secured loops of hair that resembled flowers; perhaps her own take on subtle victory curls? Mathias was sitting in the chair that was surrounded by three shelves of books. His elbows were leaning on his thighs. Mathias was hunched over, his hair hanging low in his solemn face even though the gel he had put there was fighting to keep the true blond locks in place. And as for Emil, he was sitting in the chair across from Mathias, leaning his back into the cushioned seat and keeping his eyes locked tight on the Danish boy. A flare of fire burned deep within Lukas' chest. His feet pushed him towards the two.

Mathias’s head rose and he looked up at Lukas as he approached his chair. Lukas looked down at Mathias, his lips tight and eyes lowered. Mathias’ eyes were rimmed in red. Had he been crying?

Lukas brushed the thought away and focused just on Mathias. His fingers were still pressed together in his pocket. “Well, I suppose you want to go home now?” he started, speaking in a soft, quiet voice.

Mathias shrugged and looked away. His ocean blue eyes unfocused on the bookshelves. He was floating through his own mind in a sea of thoughts.

Lukas looked away and met his gaze with Emil. He so desperately wanted to hear Mathias’ say something so that he knew what to do for him. He gave Emil an alarmed expression, begging for him to speak with Mathias. Emil sighed, hesitating before reaching out and touching Mathias’ arm.

Mathias looked at Emil’s small hand and then at the boy’s striking violet eyes. Lukas wondered how he had never acquired those glistening amethyst colored orbs of light. He had always envied their inner glow and the way that they resembled the aurora borealis that streaked it’s way across the Icelandic sky at nighttime. How Lukas wished he was as stunning and handsome as his brother. Where Lukas was a mysterious, uncharted ocean of fear, Emil was a soft, gentle winter night in Iceland. Emil was the sky and all the clouds. Lukas was the deepest, darkest parts of the world.

“We can go back to the house if you’d like,” Emil said in a gentle voice. His whispers sounded the way honey tasted. 

Mathias shook his head and looked away from Emil. he took his arm from Emil’s touch. Lukas’ stomach dropped. “I want to take a train back to Belgium,” he said in a very hollow tone. Lukas was alarmed. He brushed the silvery blonde hair from his eyes, and only then did he notice that his fingers were bleeding. He shoved them back into his pocket.

“Mathias, that’s crazy,” Emil rationalized. 

“I’ll stay with my neighbors until winter is over. Then, once summer arrives, I will live in the barn and tend to the chickens and read all day. Just like I used to when I was little,” he said. He was nodding along with every word, as though he was agreeing with himself. Emil spared Lukas a worried glance before returning to Mathias.

“And what about your father?”

Mathias paused, his eyes unfocused. Lukas watched his dazed, lost expression and was frightened to see that he was looking in a mirror. He was looking at an expression that he had created. Mathias sighed and ran a hand through his clean hair. Lukas imagined taking strands in between his fingers and cutting the thick, blond hair so that he didn’t look so rugged and messy. He imagined Mathias with a clean shave and a neat trim, like the American men that Lukas read about and heard described on the radio. 

“It’s strange,” Mathias said with a tiny, very out of place smile. “Something inside of me is sure that he is at home, just sitting at the kitchen table, smoking and reading the paper. And that my mom is cleaning the counters for the second time this day and looking at her worried reflection in the window, wondering, ‘When is Mathias coming home?.’ And my father looks up with a distracted face and says, ‘He’s out with Emma again. He’ll be home soon dear, don’t worry.’” 

Emil and Lukas exchanged worried looks. Emil’s violet eyes were very, very wide, screaming at Lukas in a tone that said, We have to get him home, now.

“And why should she worry?” Mathias asked. “Why should anyone worry?”

Lukas found his voice for a moment. “Who is Emma?” He sounded so very small and worried though he tried desperately to conceal his concern.

At that moment, Mathias looked up with the bluest eyes and the pinkest cheeks Lukas had ever seen. He was something out of an American love story, like Jay Gatsby himself was just sitting in the old armchair in front of him. Lukas wondered how the sunshine in Mathias could be so dark.

“A memory,” he replied. 

Their gazes were locked together. Lukas reached out to touch Mathias’ arm. This time he didn’t pull away.

… 

Back at the house, Ursula had knocked over the candles on the kitchen table, Emil’s Glenn Miller record, and Lukas’s violin.

Lukas had rushed into the music room, his chest filled with anxiety over the fallen instrument. He had picked it up like a mother picking her child from its cradle. Nothing about the violin seemed broken. The glassy, honey-colored wood had no chips or dents, and every string was perfectly intact, just as he’d left it. He brushed his fingers over the strings and sighed in relief.

Stupid cat, he had thought.

Emil and Mathias had left him alone in the music room, deciding on lounging in the kitchen and listening to Glenn Miller while they cooked dinner. He wished that he was able to just hang around Mathias like that. Mathias seemed so distant from Lukas, especially when it came to their interests. Glenn Miller and violin were so different. The violin would never be able to keep up with Miller’s fast-paced rhythm.

Lukas was sitting on the floor with his violin still, thinking about when he learned to play as a kid. He took the bow from the table and hesitated before he started to run the bow over the strings.

His thoughts emanated from the strings. Everything note and chord were words that were pushing their way out of his mind. He never spoke his thoughts; he just played them.

And for some reason, every note and chord was desperate and lonely. Every note and chord was sad.

He put the violin down and squeezed his eyes shut. Glenn Miller was floating through the kitchen.

He took to his feet and ran up to his room.

… 

“I won’t burn myself again, I promise,” Emil said. “You won’t have to save me this time.”

The metal tray clattered into the oven and Emil smiled happily, holding out his arms and looking over his shoulder. He seemed quite impressed with himself. “I don’t mean to brag, but something tells me that this is gonna be the best baked cod we’ve ever had.”

Mathias smiled and shook his head.

Emil sat down in front of him, his hands folded tightly. He remembered the cheerful, happy boy he’d met just a day earlier. In The Mood started and Emil was reminded of their conversation from the day before.

“Mathias, have you ever been to America?”

Mathias looked up at him and shook his head. Since they’d gotten home, Mathias was acting more normal. He was quiet and dazed, but less… impulsive.

“No. My parents did when I was about fourteen or fifteen… I can’t remember. They went to New York, but not just the city. They went upstate to see the leaves changing colors,” he replied. He blinked a few times. “I think they saw a show on Broadway, too.”

Emil rested his chin on his palm. “Tell me more about America.”

Mathias scoffed and shook his head. “I’m not the one who went. My parents are the ones who told me everything.”

“Well, just, enlighten me then. Make something up, or tell me what your parents said.”  
Mathias raised an eyebrow at Emil. He was smiling in a non-frightening way for the first time that evening.

“Well,” he said, adjusting his position in the wooden chair, “they visited New York in the fall, that I remember. First, they went to the city. They stayed with a friend who had moved a few years back. The first day, they went to Central Park. The timezone differences were messing with their sleep schedule, so they got up very early and walked around Central Park until mid-afternoon… My father said that the trees were stuck in time. The frost covered their leaves like blankets securing them at that very moment forever. And yet they were orange and red and yellow, and they were changing so many different colors but still preserved at the moment.”

Mathias looked up to see Emil. Emil was staring at him like he was saving every single word so he could go back and hear them again later. Mathias hid a smile. “My father was very… romantic when he was around my mom…” he voice faltered at the mention of his dead mother, but he continued nonetheless. “He was always saying poetic things like that around her. It was like every day he was trying to make her fall in love with him again and again. Sometimes I don’t understand it; why would you want to work so hard just make someone fall in love with you every single day?”

Mathias looked down at his hands, and he realized he was clenching his hand into a fist. He quickly released it and put his hands in his lap. He bit the inside of his lip. Sometimes he didn’t understand why his father made his mother fall in love again every single day, but other times, he knew exactly why.

“It’s pretty cheesy, I know,” he said, avoiding looking at the Icelandic boy. 

“I think it’s a good story,” Emil said, looking away. His silvery-white hair fell into his eyes.

The timer on the counter dinged, and Emil sat up from his seat hastily. Mathias stole a glance at the boy only to see that his cheeks were glowing a faint rose color. Mathias’ stomach turned. Was he blushing?

Mathias quickly got up as well, brushing non-existent dirt from his blue sweater and walking swiftly out of the kitchen.

“Mathias!” Emil called from the counter. “Mathias, don’t you want dinner?”  
Mathias ran up the stairs, his feet almost catching and making him trip. “No, I’m full!” He bounded up each step until he was running up the hall. 

What was that? he thought. He was surprised that he had run from Emil, but he was scared too. Everything that happened made him wonder whether or not Emil was blushing out of embarrassment or because… 

Did he like Mathias?

Mathias wanted to laugh at himself. His thought process was something similar to that of a young boy. Besides, Emil wasn’t like Mathias… Emil was… normal.

Mathias sighed and ran a hand through his hair. It hit him that he didn’t have a room to reside in. There was Emil’s room, right by the stairs, the bathroom adjacent to Emil’s room, the coat closet where he had been forced to get changed, Lukas’ room at the end of the hall, and across from Lukas’ room was what Mathias’ assumed to be the master bedroom. Their parent’s room. 

He knew that Lukas would probably kill him for going into his room; he had been so flustered that morning. But would he care if Mathias went into their parent’s room…? 

Mathias slowed walked over to the door. It was identical to the others, yet he knew that it wasn’t just any room he was going into. Lukas had been so touchy on the subject of parents. 

He had to risk it.

His fingers touched the knob, and he hesitated. After a moment he opened the door.

It creaked like it hadn’t been opened in ages. The room itself was about the same size as Lukas’. The bed was against the wall to Mathias’ right and faced towards an old wooden dresser; picture frames and a fresh vase of flowers were set atop the dresser. A floor mirror was perched in the left corner of the room. Pearls and gold chains hung from the top of it. There was a big window that faced the street and the pier where boats swayed in the breeze. The bed was very big and had four dark wooden bed posts coming out it and nearly touching the ceiling. A red quilt with white needlework was thrown over the mattress; a green throw was at the end of the bed. Mathias was surprised to see all of this, but most of all, he was surprised to see Lukas sitting on the bed with his violin in his arms. He held it like a child.

“Lukas?” Mathis blurted out. Lukas’ eyes flicked over to look at Mathias, and Mathias instantly regretted saying anything. His blue eyes were dark with rage.

“What are you doing here?” Lukas demanded. He stood from his seat and walked over to Mathias, probably ready to push him out and slam the door. Mathias stumbled for words. “I don’t have a room, I need somewhere to sleep tonight.” he rushed out. “What, are you going to make me sleep at the kitchen table like last night?”

“You snuck into _my_ room last night. I didn’t ask you to come with me to bed!” Lukas’ eyes were brimming with anger, making him narrow them. “It’s completely inappropriate.”

“And it’s appropriate to deprive me of my own bed? Gee, sorry, my bad. Didn’t know that’s how things work Norway,” Mathias snapped back in a sarcastic tone. 

Lukas crossed his arms. “Yeah, and I’m sure lots of men sleep with each other in Denmark as well,” he retorted, though his words weren’t nearly as strong as Mathias’. Mathias wrinkled his eyebrow at him as if to say _‘what the fuck?’_

“I’m from Belgium if you can even remember that. You’ve been avoiding me this entire time,” Mathias said in a low voice, almost like a growl. His chest felt tight like the air was stuck inside of him. He knew the feeling; it was summer and he was waiting. He felt lonely.

“I _can_ remember that,” Lukas fired back, much angrier than Mathias at this moment. “You were born in Denmark but you moved to Belgium. SEE. I can remember!”

Mathias looked down at Lukas with a surprised expression. Lukas’ eyes were wide and his cheeks were burning into a deep rose color. “I–I mean…” Lukas trailed off, his voice gentler than before. 

Mathias’ chest hurt worse now. The more he looked at Lukas’ faltering expression, the more saddened he became. When he couldn’t bear it anymore, he turned away from Lukas, fully intending to run down the stairs so that he could rerun this awkward conversation with Emil.

 _If this is what having siblings is like,_ Mathias thought, biting the inside of his lips. _Then I’m glad I’m alone._

His foot was just about to land on the first step downwards when Lukas spoke up. “Mathias,” he called. Now he sounded tired rather than angry.

Mathias turned, and suddenly his chest was alleviated of the tightness, and Lukas looked at him with wide, blue eyes. He wasn’t angry, Mathias realized. He was confused, like he wasn’t sure if he had actually called out to him. But why was he confused? Not only that, he looked scared. What threat could Mathias possibly impose? He liked Lukas, he really did. Lukas was, after all, the one who saved him from inevitable doom.

He walked back down the hall with his eyes lowered and his head bowed. He didn’t want to see the hesitation in Lukas’ eyes.

Once at the end of the hall, Lukas stepped into the room and held his arm out, gesturing for Mathias to enter. “Please come in,” Lukas said in a whisper. Mathias looked up, confusion written into his features. He hesitated. The he walked into the room gingerly. 

He was hit with the scent of chamomiles immediately. The air held the lingering aromas of so many diluted herbs. Of course, the smell was fading due to the absence of the room’s residents; but Mathias knew that the smell of chamomiles would be permanently etched into the room’s walls.

Lukas kept the door ajar, and walked over to the bed, taking a seat against the cushions and beside his violin. He gestured for Mathias to join him; Mathias hesitantly obliged.

At first, they were quiet, unsure of what to say to each other. At last, they both spoke up, their words cutting into each other:

“If you want, I can leave.”

“I want to tell you something.”

They both looked up, deep oceanic blue clashing with the most opaque tint of the summer sky. Mathias averted his gaze to the floor, suddenly ashamed by his words.

“What?” Lukas asked in a small voice.

“I, uh, figured you didn’t want me here,” Mathias said with a nervous laughed, he rubbed the back of his neck. “I mean, the first time we met, you basically told me to fuck off. I guess I’d been ignoring the signals you gave me.”

“Oh, shut up,” Lukas replied to Mathias’ surprise. He looked at the Norwegian boy curiously. “I’m like that with everyone… even Emil. I’m not good at ‘friendly.’” He did air-quotes with his fingers, causing Mathias to laugh. Lukas looked up at him bashfully, the corners of his mouth turning up.

“But, in all seriousness, I would like if you stayed. You… are very helpful to Emil and me,” Lukas said in a final tone. He was tugging at the corner of his shirt nervously. That’s something Mathias noticed about Lukas; he didn’t have just one nervous habit, he had all of them.

Mathias searched for a way to respond. “So, the story?” he asked. Lukas looked up and Mathias saw a blush on his cheeks. “Oh,” he said. “Right.” He crossed his arms hesitating. 

“Right,” Mathias said with a nod.

Lukas nodded as well. “Right.”

“Tell the bloody story,” Mathias pressed. A playful smile was plastered on his face, balancing out Lukas’ awkward demeanor.

“Well, you were sad earlier and I was gonna use the story to cheer you up,” Lukas said, reaching for an excuse. Mathias rolled his eyes.

“Who says I’m not still sad?” Mathias questions. 

Lukas blinks and raises an eyebrow. “How about that shit-eating grin?”

Mathias bursts into laughter, which seems to throw Lukas oof guard. He ignores it, however, and continues to press the Norwegian.

“Come on, Lukas,” Mathias pleaded in a sing-song voice. He placed his hands on Lukas’ crossed knees. “I really wanna hear it now!”

“Get off me, Dane,” Lukas said with a small smile. He pushed Mathias hands from his legs and crossed his arms. 

“Come on!”

“No.”

“I’ll clean the entire house.”

Lukas paused to think. After a moment he shook his head. “Not appealing enough.”

“Tough customer,” Mathias said, clicking his tongue. “I guess I’ll never know.”

Lukas stopped tugging at his shirt and rested his chin on his hand. “Well,” he began, perking Mathias’ attention. “I’ll make a deal with you.”

Mathias copied Lukas’ motions, placing his chin in the palm of his hand and tilting his head to the side. A strand of hair fell into his face, slightly obscuring his vision. “Fine, tell me.”

Lukas paused to think, and possibly to reassess the idea entirely. After a minute of thought, he returned his attention to Mathias. “Alright, here’s my proposal: I will tell you the story after a month,” he said. Mathias sat up, opening his mouth to speak, but Lukas held up a hand, shushing him before any words came out. “However, you have to stay here with Emil and I until we find your parents, _and_ you have to let me cut your hair.”

“My hair?” Mathias asked in a confused voice. He reached up to touch the soft strands of the long, thick hair he prided himself on. “What’s wrong with it?”

“It’s far too long, Mathias,” Lukas chided in a motherly tone. Mathias rolled his eyes and ran a hand through his “far too long” hair. He tugged the ends down to face to see where they measured. The tips of his hair brushed the bottom of his nose. He sighed.

“Okay, so maybe it’s time for a trim,” he admitted. Lukas chuckled. “But you cannot mess up this hair. I _pride_ myself on my wicked good looks, Lukas.”

Lukas nodded. “Do you also pride yourself on your humble attitude.”

“Yes, in fact, I do.”

“Oh, so then a buzz will do you just fine.”

Mathias grabbed a pillow from the bed and throw it into Lukas’ face. He cried out and started laughing as he fell onto his back. Mathias laughed and leaned over, taking the pillow from Lukas’ face and smiling.

Lukas’ hair was like a halo around his head. His smooth, pale skin seemed to glow with a golden hue; his smile literally lit up the room. His blue eyes were no longer threatening, but warm and cozy, like the sweater Mathias was wearing. Mathias’ heart raced a thousand miles per hour, though he wasn’t quite sure why. Lukas’ cheeks were a bright pink, and Mathias looming over him didn’t seem to help. After they stopped laughing, the room grew quiet, and they just stared at one another.

“So, you’re not leaving?” Lukas asked with the rise of an eyebrow. Mathias’ heart skipped a beat, and he cracked a smile. 

“I guess I’m here to stay,” he said in a soft, quiet voice. “Because of Emil and you.”

Lukas’ eyes fluttered, his long dark lashes brushing against his pink cheeks. “Because of me,” he repeated in a dreamy tone. He pursed his lips but a smile broke through. Mathias felt like his heart was going to burst, so he said the only words that he could manage.

“Because of you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaaaannnnd that's the end of Part One. this chapter was very tough to write, so I hope you enjoy!
> 
> thanks for reading! thoughts and reviews cost $0 and help me to keep updating!
> 
> see you in the next one,  
> tatie


	9. Stardust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **You can cut all the flowers but you cannot keep spring from coming. —Pablo Neruda**

**Part Two**  
**April 1, 1940 ― Kristiansand, Norway**  


In the remaining days of March, everything was peaceful and warm. Lukas’ metal cross glimmered in the bright unfiltered sunlight.

Though Mathias’ family was surely doomed, Lukas was surprised to see that he was happier than he had been before. Sure, he didn’t expect much of any emotion out of the boy seeing as his mother was murdered and his father was missing. Not to mention this Emma character that seemed to be killing him slowly was also hanging over his head. Neither Emil nor Lukas were quite sure who she was. Mathias froze up and shut down every time she was mentioned. Lukas often felt the same ice crawl through his veins when he heard the mention of the girl’s name. It was hard to imagine Mathias having a life outside of the one that he was living right now. After all, he had lived in Belgium for mostly his entire life.

But then again, Lukas was a rather closed off person as well. He’d only told Mathias virtually nothing about his past life. Emil was already telling him everything he needed to know. The boy with the tiny, angelic smile and the Dane with sunlight pouring through every feature began to become very close. Almost like brothers, Lukas had thought.

But after Lukas and Mathias had talked on that gloomy day when all seemed forever locked in dread and misery, the sun had emerged from its slumber behind the clouds and lit up the world in ways Lukas thought to be possible only in dreams.

The sun was shining down into Lukas’ eyes as he watched the ships swaying in the harbor across the street. The water was finally starting to unfreeze, and the fishermen were crowding the docks like a swarm of bees. Lukas never saw so many galoshes in his entire life. They all spoke with such loud voices, laughing and patting each other on the back so hard that Lukas himself felt himself wincing. Many of the men jumped onto the boats without coats and revealed in the freezing ocean spray. Lukas was amazed that anyone found freezing to death an enjoyable thing to do. He sat on the small covered porch, a blanket around his shoulders and piping hot tea in his hands. 

Being warm was so much more enjoyable.

Inside, he could hear Emil’s music drifting through the air. Every morning, Emil and Mathias met in the kitchen to make whatever breakfast they thought they could ruin the worst. The first few times Lukas was served undercooked ham and doughy bread, he was sure that it was a joke. However, when he woke up earlier than usual one morning, he found that the two were desperately mixing, baking, and flipping whatever carbohydrate-filled breakfast they had managed to spill all over the counters, he knew that they weren’t kidding around.

So Lukas decided that earl grey was enough to keep him satisfied. 

Lukas had also bought Emil a new record. He was so sick of hearing the same brutal trumpet pounding through his head every two minutes of the day, that he had worked three extra hours at the market every day for the last two weeks of March. He eventually was able to make enough to buy Emil a Bing Crosby record called _Star Dust_. Upon seeing it, Lukas was amazed by the beautiful cover. It was the same shade of violet as Emil’s eyes. It practically had his name written all over it. _Star Dust_ was falling out of the window and swimming around Lukas’ head. It was exceptionally calmer than Glenn Miller would ever be.

He put the cup of tea to his lips, and the door opened, revealing a very tall Dane stepping onto the porch. After realizing that Mathias had no clothes to wear, Lukas had taken it upon himself to splurge what little money he had and buy Mathias some suitable clothing. However, it seemed the only clothing that their small port town had were fishermen’s attire. Mathias wore his regular chipped Oxfords and a pair of worn gray pants that Lukas was able to thrift. An Irish fisherman’s sweater was pulled over his torso, though it was a little too big for him. 

Lukas had seen the deep green sweater in the store and almost had to do a double take. It was so corny, yet he wanted nothing more than to see what that beautiful shade of green looked like when it clashed together with Mathias’ bright blue eyes.

“Good morning,” Mathias said, snapping Lukas out of his daze. His cheeks felt warm. _Was I staring?_

“Hey,” Lukas said, acknowledging him with a nod. He quickly turned away so that Mathias couldn’t see his pink cheeks. The fishermen in the harbor were singing some sort of song together.

Mathias settled into the seat next to him, shoving a piece of bread into his mouth. His breath came out in puffs of steam just barely visible in the early April air. Soon, Lukas knew that it would be getting warmer, and those summer days were just a few breaths of winter away. “I like the sweaters you bought for me,” Mathias teased with a mouthful of stale breath. Lukas looked over at Mathias with a tiny hint of a grin dancing over his lips. Mathias caught his gaze and giggled, a chunk of bread falling onto his sweater.

“Don’t you dare ruin them with your half-eaten bread,” Lukas threatened jokingly. Mathias only rolled his eyes and brushed the bread off.

“I look like an old man in this sweater,” he commented, tugging the knit material. Lukas pulled his knees to his chest and drank his tea, his eyes running over Mathias’ body behind the rim of the mug. “I look like I’m going to go fishing.”

Lukas rolled his eyes and pulled the blanket closer to his body. “We live in a port town. What did you expect?”

Mathias shrugged. “Something other than sweaters and galoshes?”

Lukas smirked and turned away, his eyes locked on the jolly, singing fishermen congregating in the port. “Welcome to Norway,” he mumbled against the hot rim of his mug.

Mathias turned and watched the fisherman as well, his sculpted jaw casting shadows under his chin. Lukas’ eyes followed the contours and sharp angles etched into his face, like rivers flowing through a mountainside. Mathias was very chiseled, especially around his jaw and his nose. But what Lukas found most out of place was the sweet patches of nearly translucent freckles that were dotted over the bridge of his nose and apples of his cheeks. He wondered if his freckles would appear more clearly in the summer.

At that moment, Mathias turned to Lukas again. A confused looked was polished over his features. “Do I have food on my face or something?” he asked sincerely, swiping his hand around his mouth.

Lukas quickly shook his head. “No, no. I just got caught in a stare is all.”

Mathias’ hand froze and dropped back into his lap. “Yeah, I used to do the same all the time when I was in school. Got the shit beat outta me every day for that.”

Concern made Lukas’ dark eyebrows pinch together. “Your teachers beat you?” he asked in awe.

Mathias nodded slowly as if it was procedural. “Yeah, I would always be smacked with the meter stick or spanked with a belt. It hurt like hell.”

Lukas felt his eyes widen and he tried not to think too hard about any of it. He couldn’t bear to think of a younger Mathias being smacked across the wrists or face by one of his teachers. “Why did they hit you?”

He paused, but then shrugged. “I don’t know… I’ve always been very energetic and jumpy. I was never able to just sit down and focus in class unless it was about something that interested me. They also hit me because I was so terrible at reading.” Mathias' hands were clenched in his lap, and Lukas saw that his foot was tapping the ground ever so slightly. His light blue eyes were lost.

“You told me that you loved to read,” Lukas stated with a hint of a question in his tone. 

Mathias nodded. “I do love reading. I’ve just never been good at it. I think there’s something wrong with my eyes; when I was younger, the letters would flip backward and move around so I could never fully grasp what the writing was actually about. It’s not as bad as it used to be, but if I don’t read for long periods of time, it starts to get worse.”

Lukas watched the fishermen swaying in their boats, and then looked down at his cup of tea. His face was stinging due to the cold air that blew against his face. After a moment, he looked over at Mathias. Mathias was staring at him.

They both looked away.

 _Star Dust_ transitioned into _Dinah_. Mathias perked up, a smile printed on his face. “This song has to be my favorite,” he announced. “I wish I could sing like this.”

Lukas smiled slightly and nodded. Mathias stood, swaying around jokingly and mouthing the words with a dramatic expression on his face. Lukas laughed and shook his head. 

Mathias jumped in front of Lukas’ chair, landing with a thud and leaning over to be face-to-face with him. The faint words coming from the window were mimicked by Mathias’ moving pink lips, He placed his hands on each arm of the chair, slowly leaning in with a smirk plastered on his face. 

He pushed Mathias’s shoulder, causing him to back away so that he couldn’t see just how flustered Lukas really was. Suddenly the record froze, repeating the same broken half of the word Dinah over and over again. Mathias looked up, his head tilting slightly. “Emil probably scratched it,” he concluded. Lukas threw his hands up, clearly exasperated. “I just bought that damned record for him!” he exclaimed. The two boys took to their feet and entered the house one after the other. Mathias entered first, with Lukas following suit. Once rushing past the small living area, Mathias stopped before entering the kitchen.

Lukas’ felt his heart stop. Something inside of him was screaming that something terrible had happened. The tension in Mathias’s prominent back muscles was enough to make him worry.

However, when Lukas looked at the record, he saw that Ursula the cat was just sitting atop of it, licking her white paw. She ignored the record that was desperately trying to finish saying "Dinah." Lukas looked from the record to Mathias, only to see that Mathias’ shoulders were shaking. Concern washed over Lukas' face. He moved to stand in front of Mathias; there was a goofy smile plastered across this face.

“What the hell―” he started, though his words were cut short by laughing. He ran a hand through his hair. Lukas sighed in relief and let himself smile at the giggling Dane. He walked over to the cat and picked her up, put her on the ground, and watched her scamper away to the stairs. The record resumed, and for once, he was relieved to hear music pouring out of it.

“I never liked cats until I met yours,” Mathias said with a smile. Lukas looked over at him, his big eyes meeting with Mathias’ happy blue gaze. “How long have you had her?”

Lukas looked away and started to clean up the mess that Ursula had left. She was always knocking things off of the table and digging her claws into the cloth napkins. She especially liked to knock over the candles there were on the table. The long red candles were all the way under the cabinet by the stove. He sighed. “We found her in 1937. At least, that’s when I think we found her.” He set the fallen silverware back onto the table and walked over to the counter to retrieve the candles. “When we first moved here, she was a stray. Emil found her and we got to keep her.”

Mathias whistled just as Lukas’ fingertips touched the candles. He quickly scooped them up and went back to the table to return them to their stand. “Huh. So do you know how old she is?”

“She’s about three,” Lukas responded. He put the candles back to their place at the center of the table. “Emil found her when she was a kitten.”

“How old were you and Emil?”

Lukas paused to think. “I was fifteen. Emil was twelve.”

Suddenly Mathias snorted and started laughing. Lukas turned to look at the doubled over Dane, his eyebrows raised. Mathias looked up at him. His eyes squinted with joy. “I can’t imagine fifteen-year-old Lukas.”

Lukas’ cheeks flared up and he looked away. “Good, because I was a prick.”

“So you were the same?”

Lukas sighed, a smile small tugging his cheeks. He picked up the candle from the table and threw it playfully at Mathias, who reached out to catch it, bobbled it, and dropped it. He started to laugh more. “It’s not even that funny! Why aren’t you laughing at the thought of twelve-year-old Emil?”

Mathias didn’t respond and instead giggled as he reached down to pick up the candle. He walked over to Lukas, then put the candle back into its place on the table. “He was probably the same; very innocent and a bit naive.”

Their shoulders were almost touching. Mathias was almost four inches taller than Lukas, however, so his broad frame towered Lukas’ own skinny body. He looked up at him with confusion. “Oh, and I’m not?”

Mathias shrugged, his eyes lowered to meet Lukas’ eyes. “You’re not naive. A naive person wouldn’t have been able to save me from German soldiers looking for ‘criminals’.”

“I doubt that’s what they were really doing,” Lukas said. “They were taking anyone who posed a threat to them, sure. But tell me with a straight face that they weren’t scanning the land as well.”

Mathias suddenly looked puzzled. “Why would they be doing that? Norway isn’t of any value to them as far as we know.”

Lukas sighed and subconsciously took his hand. He started to lead Mathias outside, back to the porch, his fingertips hot against Mathias’ cool skin. He hadn’t meant to grab his hand like this; it was just a habit he had from leading Emil around so many times. Yet here he was, making a big deal about holding Mathias’ cool, large, calloused, rough, and oddly comforting hand. He released him as they stepped through the door.

“The ports, Mathias,” Lukas started. “In the winter, the ports on the Baltic Sea freeze. Here, there are ports that stay unfrozen, even in the winter. They’re invaluable. They need ports.”

The fishermen were releasing their anchors and ties to the docks and were cheering each other on as slowly, each boat started to drift into the freezing ocean. The sun sparkled against the sea, throwing lights into Mathias’ wide eyes. The only sound to be heard was the waves lapping the wooden docks, begging the land to take them in so that the sea could escape its lonely world.

“Lukas, is this true?” he asked in a soft voice.

Lukas looked over at him, his eyebrows pinching together. “Isn’t it obvious?”

Mathias ran a hand through his cornsilk hair. “I’m not a criminal, right?” His face was suddenly very pale, causing Lukas to become even more confused. Just as Lukas opened his mouth to answer, Mathias released his hair and looked around with a dazed expression, as though he was just realizing where he was. “I need to go inside,” he whispered before turning and swinging open the door.

The wind picked up and swept Lukas’ platinum blond hair into his eyes. The strands tickled his forehead and seeped through the holes of his sweater. He looked from the port to the door, then back to the port. Two seagulls were perched atop the wooden poles holding the dock in place. The water hit the dock with such a force that the spray seemed to carry in the air and hit Lukas’ freezing face like small, microscopic bullets.

The boats were long gone. 

“Fuck,” Lukas whispered.

…

The candles on the table cast shadows against Mathias’ pale skin. His cheeks looked deceivingly hollow. His eyelashes pulled black heavy shadows over his skin.

Even in the night, all he could think about was the brightness of the sun.

After talking with Lukas that morning, he felt like an absolute idiot. Of course, they needed ports. Of course, they were scanning the land. This wasn’t coincidental, this was tactical. He remembered the feeling of leaving Belgium, and how invasion seemed so very far away now that there was water between him and his worst fears. Now, it only felt like the water was drowning him.

His father. He gripped the edge of the table and looked down at the paper in front of him. It was blank, with nothing near it aside from a pencil just waiting to be broken. It was his father’s fault. He was paranoid. He had lived to hear of what had happened in the Great War.

Mathias wondered if someday, his own child would be surviving a war of their own.

He swiped the pencil off of the table and pocketed it before standing and striding towards the door. Once arriving at the entrance to the house he paused, his eyes watching shadows dance across the wooden door. He looked back at the red candles; their wax was dripping onto the table, making a pool of red that resembled blood. He thought of the guns at the train station. Then he reached to the handle, opened the door and stumbled out of the house and into the freezing night.

… 

The stars above twinkled and freckled the sky with the illusion of light. 

He didn’t know where his feet were taking him. Hell, he’d been on this walk before, he was almost sure of it. His heart was pounding and the cobblestone beneath him reached up to meet with his shoes. It was wet, and he was sure that if he kept looking at the stars, he would slip and crack his skull open. Red, blonde hair, and cobblestone all painted together under the night sky like some sort of sick Renaissance painting; realism gripping his feet as the brush painted the picture of his doom. Nevertheless, he looked at the stars and trusted that his feet would not fail him.

The stars were the same here as they were in Belgium. Though they were so much more visible in the countryside, even here in Kristiansand, Mathias could see every spark of light that the stars had to offer. He thought of Emma.

_“Can you see Venus up there?” she asked, lifting her arm to point at the sky. He followed the length of her strong arm and let his gaze launch into the nothingness of the sky._

_“No,” Mathias said with an exasperated laugh. “At this point, I think you’re just lying to me.”_

_Emma giggled and turned her head to look at him. He kept his eyes up, pretending not to notice her staring at his profile. Mathias liked pretending not to see that way that she stared at him; it made him feel handsome. Mathias never turned down attention. “Well, I wouldn’t lie to you about a planet in the sky.”_

_“No, but I have a feeling that you like to mess with me,” he replied, turning his head to look at her. The hay beneath his head crunched and he ignored the damp, muddy grass digging into his shirt._

_“I_ love _to mess with you,” she mused, her eyes squinted into a smile. Emma’s freckles were starting to come back with the warm weather, and she looked ravishing with her new short hair. Light blonde locks of hair framed her face, like a halo. Mathias almost felt bad dragging her out here to look at the sky and mess up her clean hair._

_Almost._

_“How rude,” Mathias feigned offense and turned away from her, crossing his arms._

_This only made Emma giggle more. She pushed his arm playfully and shook her head at him. “You love it too, Mathias,” she prodded. At this, he raised an eyebrow at her and tried not to laugh at her giggling._

_“Oh yeah? I like being teased to death?” he asked with an undeniable smile. She nodded and only then did he realize her fingers were still lingering on his shoulder. “Ah, you caught me; I love it.” His tone was sarcastic and light._

_Emma’s incessant giggling died down until they were laid there in silence, their eyes stuck to the sky. Her hand was rested on his shoulder and he was suddenly aware of the nervous beating in his heart. Mathias liked Emma—loved her even—yet adrenaline was pulsing through his veins and his feet were telling him to run._

_Was this love?_

__No _, he thought. It couldn’t be._

_Emma’s light green eyes were tracing the constellations, and Mathias had never wanted to run away more._

__Now, all he wanted, was to have her back.

And then he tripped.

His foot caught on a rock that jutted out on the road, and he stumbled forward and into a car that was parked next to one of the row homes. He steadied himself against the hood of the black car and looked into his reflection. Mathias’ eyes were rimmed with red, and his hair was unruly Lukas had been right—he did need a haircut. His pale skin seemed to glow in the black sheen. He raked a hand through it and looked away. His eyes caught onto a door of one of the houses and he did a doubletake.

 _Elizaveta’s house_ , Mathias thought. 

“I’m at fucking Elizaveta’s house,” he whispered. He stared for a minute longer, before his laughing cut sharply through the air. He was breathless and tired; he knew he sounded hysterical. Maybe he was.

Mathias exhaled shakily and walked to the house with two things etched into his mind. He needed to see her. Maybe this was the universe confirming what he needed to do.

When he got to the door he paused. _What is with doors and pausing_ , he thought to himself. He pinched his arm and then rapped his fist against the door. The freezing air and fear made his fingers shake. Mathias wondered if he hit his hand hard enough, would his fingers shatter like ice? After no answer, he pounded the door harder and longer. He remembered how scared Elizaveta had been, even after they took such caution to enter her home.

He was about to kick the door down himself when an exhausted and quite terrified looking Elizaveta opened the door. Upon seeing him, her green eyes widened for a fraction of a second. She exhaled and a part of a name slipped out of her mouth. However, when she realized it was him, she let out a sigh of relief, gripped his arm and pulled him aggressively into her house. She led him through the dark foyer and into what appeared to be a kitchen. Mathias kept his eyes on her medium length, slightly wavy hair. It was no longer pinned up and curled to the heavens. She kept it tucked behind her ears; she looked pretty and natural. 

Once inside the kitchen, she let go of his arm and whipped around to face him. Her face was devoid of makeup and her lips were no longer painted crimson. Everything about her held a peachy, pink undertone. He wondered if she liked to look this sweet and delicate.

“Do you realize how dangerous it is for you to be here at this hour?!” she asked, crossing her arms. Mathias opened his mouth to respond, but she shushed him and started to pace. Her nightdress and silk robe were being kicked around by her furiously pacing feet. “You have no idea what kind of trouble you and I could get into. There are eyes _everywhere_.”

Elizaveta stopped her pacing and suddenly turned to face him. She looked him up and down, a scowl on her face. “You need to fix your hair. Now.”

“What’s wrong with it?” Mathias asked. He touched it and winced at the grease. It was so dirty that it was holding its current slicked back look. He ran his hands through it so much that now it was all moved out of his face and pressed neatly against his head.

“You—you look ridiculous. You look like an idiot I used to know,” she sputtered out quickly. Before Mathias to question her, Elizaveta walked to him and reached up, messing his hair up and pulling strands down into his face. She exhaled and nodded at her work. “Could be better. Get a haircut, will you?”

“Alright, alright, Jesus,” he said defensively. His hands were held up in a gesture of surrender.

“Why are you here,” she asked. She pulled a cigarette from her robe pocket and went to the table to find a match. Mathias watched her jealously and stuffed his hands into his pocket. The pencil was still in his pocket.

“I need two favors,” he said. Elizaveta plucked a matchbox from the table and swiped a match against the box. It didn’t light.

“I don’t do favors, remember?” she asked, furiously swiping the match against the box. “And I can’t find your father either.”

“I know, I know,” Mathias replied, resisting the urge to run a hand through his hair. He pinched his fingers in his pocket. “It’s not my father. It’s something else and I think you would understand if I told you.”

She sighed and shook her head, fishing for another match from the box. “Well don’t just stand there,” she chided. “Tell me.”

Mathias exhaled, the only noise aside from Elizaveta’s incessant swiping of the match. “I need to leave Norway in about a fortnight.”

The match caught on fire, the orange light illuminating Elizaveta’s shocked face as she turned to look at Mathias. He held eye contact with her, examining the concern on her face.

“What?” she asked incredulously. “Is something wrong? What about Lukas and Emil?”

“You know why I’m leaving,” he said in a deadpan voice. Her expression dropped and she looked away, lighting her cigarette and then taking a long, drawn-out drag.

He wondered if her hair smelled like smoke. It didn’t smell even remotely of cigarettes in any other part of the house. She flipped her hair over her shoulder and leaned against the chair. “It’s not realistic, Mathias,” she said in a quiet voice. “I know invasion seems inevitable, but leaving the country at this point just isn’t going to work.”

“And why not?” he asked. “I’m not risking staying here. I have to leave and then find my father.”

“And what about Lukas and Emil, hm?” she asked. “What are they going to do? Leave? Poor Lukas has to work double and triple times at markets and shops just so he can feed him and Emil—now you as well. He has to keep the house in his parents' name and avoid his neighbors because they’re growing so suspicious about the poor boy that he isn’t quite sure if he can leave the house anymore. Not to mention he has to hide you or lie about you because people are starting to get the wrong idea. I mean, you look nothing like the two boys, surely you can’t be related.” Her face was reddening, with anger or embarrassment, Mathias wasn’t sure. She looked away and took a drag. 

“What are you, his therapist?” Mathias asked with a confused look. “It would explain why he’s been out to see you so many times this week.” Mathias recalled all of the many times Lukas had gone over to Elizaveta’s to “drop something off” or “deliver her mail.” Suddenly, a deep anger started to build in Mathias' chest. The idea of Lukas lying to him felt like a slap in the face, and Elizaveta knowing more about Lukas was even more enraging. Adrenaline pulsed through his veins and made his skin feel hot. His fingers were pinching into his skin so hard, he was sure his hands were bleeding. 

“He comes to me because I’m the one who’s been keeping him updated and hopeful about this stupid war and his parents!” Elizaveta said in an annoyed voice. She waved her cigarette around, ashed falling to the floor. “He’s so lost without his mother and stepfather that he doesn’t even know how to explain his grief sometimes. He told me he felt like his skin was made of lead, and I had to explain that what he felt were dread and sadness. He doesn’t know how to cope, so I drag him out here to make sure that he isn’t losing his mind over this—this absolute _fucking_ tragedy!”

Her voice broke. Suddenly Elizaveta looked very small. Tears were forming in her vibrant green eyes and she stared at her burning cigarette. The smoke curled around her head like the thoughts racing through her mind. Her hand hastily rubbed the tears from her face and she exhaled shakily. “He’s just a child,” she said softly. “And I’m doing everything I can to keep his family alive.”

At this Mathias perked up and looked at her with a newfound curiosity. “His parents are alive?” he asked in a quiet voice.

Elizaveta nodded and ignored the tears on her face. “They’re apart of the leverage,” she said. “Someone wants me out of the picture and if I listen, then his parents live.” She was sniffling now, her cigarette shaking from the trembling of her hand. “And if I try to stop anything, then someone else I love is going to be killed.”

Mathias blinked rapidly and released his hands from the fist they had formed. “Why didn’t you tell Lukas and Emil?”

“I’m not even supposed to be telling you!” she cried. Her face was red and splotchy. “I-If he finds out...”

Mathias exhaled sharply and shook his head, unsure of what to do with the crying woman standing in front of him. She held her hands against her face to mask her crying from him, but to no avail. Her shoulders were shaking.

He walked over and gently took the cigarette from in between her fingers. She froze up and looked up at him, her face wet and her dark eyelashes stuck together. With the tears in her eyes, her eyes looked so green that Mathias thought he could see a field of grass and farmland. Something about this woman seemed so earthly and reminded him of his own farm in Belgium. He put his arms around her and let her sink into his chest, her face buried in his shirt and tears catching on his sweater.

“I need you to calm down and tell me what’s going on Eliza,” he said in a gentle voice. The cigarette in between his fingers was tempting him but he resisted. “I’m not going to tell anyone about any of this.”

She cried for a few moments more, her shoulders shaking and skin hot. Finally, she pulled back, shaking her head and moving Mathias hands away from her. She breathed deeply and rubbed at the tears on her face. “No,” Elizaveta replied in a much calmer voice. “I can’t risk it. I’ve already said too much.”

“So you’re just going to keep all of this bottled up?” Mathias asked with a shocked tone. “Eliza, if you do that one day it’s going to become too much and everything will pour out.”

“I don’t have any other options, Mathias,” she said in a slightly desperate voice. “I have to hope and pray that being passive is working and keeping the people I love alive. I don’t care if it’s selfish; I can’t lose him.”

Him. Mathias latched onto that word but didn’t press. Who was he? Mathias wondered. A son or brother? Her father? A husband?

Looking into Elizaveta’s eyes was enough to tell Mathias that some stories didn’t have to be told. He knew that she was hurting and maybe she’d stay this way forever. Even Mathias couldn’t help her now.

Elizaveta looked at the ground, her arms crossed and hair falling into her face. Neither of them dared to break the silence—not now when too much could’ve been said. She tucked a strand of light brown hair behind her ear and sighed before speaking up in a forced manner.

“You said you needed two favors,” she pointed out. “What was the second?”

Mathias shook his head and fiddled with the pencil in his pocket. “Unimportant.”

“Come on, you woke me up in the middle of the night. Spill,” she urged with a touch of annoyance attached to her words.

Mathias shrugged and kicked his shoe into the floor. “A radio,” he mumbled.

“What?”

“I wanted to see if you had a radio I could borrow,” he explained. “Lukas and Emil keep using that outdated phonograph… I wanted to get them a radio so that they could know what’s happening and listen to music.”

“How charitable,” she said in a deadpan voice. He looked up and saw her emotionless expression. There was something so off about Elizaveta that it made her scary to just about everyone she met. He tried to think of a younger version of her, but nothing came to mind. 

He flicked the pencil around and shrugged. “I had one back home. We could really use it.”

Elizaveta raised an eyebrow at him. “‘ _We_?’” she asked. She crossed her arms and leaned her weight onto one leg. “I thought you were leaving for greener pastures.”

Mathias squeezed his hand into a fist and sighed. “I don’t know what’s going to happen, Eliza.” He thought of the ships sailing out to the lonely, uncertain sea and felt as though that was his situation. He wanted to leave and run away from this conflict but there was too much here to leave. How could abandon Emil, the one who befriended him, talked with him endlessly about everything and nothing, cooked terrible breakfasts, and let him play whatever music he wanted? How could he leave the stupid cat, Ursula, and all of her many antics that kept him joyful? How could he leave Elizaveta, who kept these boys safe and made sure they stayed sane all the while? She was mysterious and unspoken, like a guardian angel.

How could he leave Lukas?

How could he abandon the boy who saved him, who took him in even when he could barely handle his own family? How could he leave his soft voice and tiny smiles that crept across his lips the way that Mathias fingers could? His soft platinum blond hair and his black eyelashes that contrasted when his eyes fluttered were something Mathias would never be able to let go. And the way his angular, full cheeks turned rosy pink when the cold breeze bit at his angelic skin. Lukas’ eyes captivated Mathias and kept him stuck in his place when their eyes met. His eyes were the color of the ocean and sprinkled with specks of light blue rings in the light. He was the chaos of the sea and the calm of a summer night. And maybe Mathias wished for the green eyes and the golden sunlight shining down onto fields of love and safety, but Lukas was a soft summer night. Lukas was the was the sunset and cast rose and tangerine all over the sky. Lukas was the way the sea crashed against the sand but always returned to its home. Lukas was the white birds that flew in flocks against the night sky and followed the moon wherever it led them. Lukas was the stars in the sky, always watching and casting their light over everything they touched. He wasn’t golden summers, he was warm nights, hot tea, the ocean, the stars, sweaters, safety. and love.

Emma was loved. But Lukas was love itself.

His heart was beating fast and his eyes were unfocused on the ground. He could feel Eliza’s stare burning through his skin, but it didn't faze him—not when Lukas was the thing that was ravaging his mind. After the silence was finished, Mathias spoke up one last time.

“I’m not going to leave,” he said in a dreamy voice. “And I need the radio before Wednesday.”

Eliza didn’t respond. At least, not that Mathias heard. He walked out of the house and back into the freezing night. He gripped the pencil in his pocket and looked up to the night sky. Mathias’ eyes fluttered; he wanted it to consume him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> phew what a chapter! this was tough to write, but i'm glad i got it out. i'm so sorry for the lack of updates! school is getting crazy and my honors classes are not giving me any breaks :/ i will try to update at least once or twice a month from now on.
> 
> i hope you all liked this chapter :) trying to build some rising tension and a little bit of elizaveta to spice things up. i actually have an entire backstory for hungary, austria, and prussia and i might do a little sequel/prequel thing about them?? let me know if you'd read that!
> 
> thanks so much for reading! i hope you enjoyed! reviews cost $0 and really help me to keep going
> 
> much love,  
> tate


	10. Lemongrass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **“You pierce my soul. I am half agony, half hope … I have loved none but you." ―Jane Austen**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys! this chapter was posted in a bit of a rush so i'm sorry for any mistakes! please read the endnote if you have the chance!

**April 2, 1940 ― Kristiansand, Norway  
168 Hours Before**

He smoothed out the thick blond lock of hair before settling it in between the silver pair of scissors and snapping them shut. The sheared hair fell to the floor. He ran a hand through the softness.

Lukas sighed and moved to go to the right of Mathias’ head. Whenever he cut Emil’s hair, he always started at the back. He didn’t want to miss anything before he went on to the sides. Lukas decided that he would keep Mathias’ hair short on the sides and longer on the top, like an American boy.

Mathias, however, had no clue what Lukas was going to do.

“I really don’t like having my eyes closed, Lukas,” he said in an anxious voice. Lukas took the scissors to his hair and started to trim once more. “You better not fuck it up.”

“What, you don’t trust me?” Lukas asked in a teasing voice. He straightened out a strand of hair before trimming it close to Mathias’ head and letting it fall. 

“No,” Mathias replied, wincing at the sharp snap of the scissors. “Especially not with those scissors so close to my face.”

“I guess you make a valid point. I don’t trust me either,” Lukas said with a tiny smirk. It was so easy to scare Mathias that sometimes Lukas simply could not resist the urge to tease the anxious Dane. Mathias made a frightened face, and Lukas laughed. “Relax, I’m kidding. The worst I’d do is give you buzz.”

“Oh yeah? And what’s the best?” Mathias questioned.

Lukas hummed and combed Mathias’ hair down with his fingers. “A nice trim, I suppose.” Mathias’s hair was thicker than it looked, and the clean blond strands all clumped together tightly. Lukas could never imagine himself with hair this unruly. He continued to trim away the strands but found his eyes falling to Mathias’ face no matter how hard he tried to concentrate on the task at hand. 

When his bright blue eyes were shut he looked solemn and peaceful, like he was sleeping. His dark blond lashes fluttered against his skin, and Lukas felt the urge to press his cheek against Mathias’, just so he could feel those lashes flutter against his own skin. His lips were extremely alluring as well. It seemed so long ago that Mathias had pulled Lukas into his arms and kissed his forehead so gently, Lukas still wasn’t sure if it was a dream or not. Surely it must’ve been a dream―Mathias probably would’ve puked if he remembered any of it. Lukas doubted he did.

Nevertheless, here he was, cutting Mathias’ hair and trying not to stare. A tired sigh escaped Mathias’ lips, Lukas looked away, blush creeping over his cheeks. He decided to speak up.

“You never talk about Belgium,” he started, trying not to sound impatient. He was so curious about Mathias’ life before this that he couldn’t help but bring up the topic. “What was it like?”

Mathias laughed a little and sighed deeply. “Well,” he started, “it was warm. In the summer, it got so hot that sometimes I would take my shirt off and run into this creek right behind my barn. I would lay in the hay in the barn for hours, just reading or listening to the radio.”

“The radio is only in English though,” Lukas said, looking from Mathias’ face and then to the scissors. He snapped them shut. Hair fell.

“That’s how I learned to speak English,” Mathias said. “It was a shitty radio but I already knew Latin from our Bibles in school. And knowing Dutch helped too. It was easier than most people say it is.” Mathias fiddled with the hemp of his shirt and his knee bounced. Lukas wondered how Mathias had been able to even focus while listening to his radio.

“English was hard for me,” Lukas admitted. “But I guess not everyone is a _super genius_ like you.” His tone held traces of sarcasm to keep his words from being a compliment. Mathias seemed to be more book smart than he was street smart. Common sense came naturally, but at certain times Lukas wondered if Mathias had his head screwed on backward. He recalled the first time they met and concluded his thoughts.

Mathias chuckled and shrugged. “I guess not,” he said. “Why was it hard for you?” 

Lukas looked out the window of the house and squinted at the ocean that reflected the sunlight into the window. “I’m not quadrilingual like you,” Lukas pointed out. “Sure, I can recognize different languages like I did at the train station, but I can only fluently speak Norwegian and English.”

“But you lived in Iceland, right? Doesn’t Emil speak Icelandic?” Mathias questioned. 

Lukas hummed in agreement and separated a piece of hair from another. “Emil is a genius,” Lukas started. “He speaks Icelandic as his first language, but he knows Norwegian and English so well you would think that he’s a native speaker. I, on the other hand, never became fluent in Icelandic. I only know bits and pieces.”

Mathias pursed his lips together, and a small smile spread across his face. “Will you say something for me in Icelandic?” 

Lukas smiled slightly and looked at Mathias’s face, absorbing every detail so much so that he was overwhelmed by him. His fingers were shakily brushing Mathias’ hair out of his face; his heart was fluttering away from his chest. 

“Ég elska þig,” Lukas said in a quiet voice.

Mathias’ eyebrows came together. “It sounds familiar,” he said in a quiet voice. “What does that mean?”

Lukas snipped a piece of hair sharply. “It means ‘how are you’,” he replied in a controlled tone. 

Mathias nodded and there was silence between the two once again. The only noise was the sound of the scissors snipping away at cornsilk hair. After a few minutes, Mathias spoke up again.

“You never told me why you were at the station that day,” Mathias said in a curious voice. Lukas hesitated on cutting a strand of hair. He exhaled deeply.

“It doesn’t really matter, I suppose,” he said, trying to change the subject. He pulled at a strand of Mathias’ hair harder than intended. Mathias winced. 

“Well there’s no logical reason you’d be there in the first place,” Mathias said. “I certainly wouldn’t be at my local train station just for some relaxation.”

Lukas rolled his eyes and sighed. “I’m sure Emil has told you everything you need to know about him and me.” 

Mathias shook his head. “No, actually he hasn’t. Sure, he complains about you like any little brother does, but the only thing I know is that your parents are missing as well.”

“So put the pieces together,” Lukas said with a small edge to his voice. “Why do you think I was there?”

“Why can’t you tell me?” Mathias asked.

Lukas’ breath caught and he felt his chest tighten. _Because I don’t know how to open up_ , he thought. _Because I’m afraid of letting people in_. Lukas sighed and didn’t respond. He cut a piece of hair rather aggressively. Mathias didn’t wince this time. 

“I don’t know. Why don’t you ever tell me about Emma?” Lukas asked with a sharp edge to his voice. This time, Mathias winced hard. 

“That’s different,” Mathias retorted in a quiet voice. He kept his eyes shut tight, as though he was trying to block out Lukas’ words. He gripped the corner of his shirt anxiously and bounced his leg. Lukas caught sight of his nervous movement and rolled his eyes. Normally, he wouldn’t have cared that Mathis was fidgeting like hell; however, he couldn’t help but be pissed off with this backward logic of his. Why did Lukas have to open up about everything and Mathias didn’t?

Lukas ran his fingers through Mathias’ hair. It was just about done, save for some finishing touches Lukas needed to do. “How is it different?” Lukas asked, putting down the scissors and reaching for the razor blade on the kitchen table. He carefully swiped away at the hair on Mathias’ neck, trying not to become distracted by the way that his tense shoulders moved under his shirt. 

“Because―well, this is different than if you lose your parents,” Mathias tried to explain.

“I understand, but why can you tell me about your parents but not Emma?” Lukas questioned, his voice sharper than the blade in his hand.

“Because of... she… she just isn’t the same as my parents Lukas,” Mathias replied.

“Really?” Lukas asked in a voice that dripped with sarcasm. “I could’ve sworn she was your mother.”

Mathias froze up in his seat. Lukas stopped trimming his hair and felt an icy chill running through his stomach. He sighed and put his face in his hands. The word lingered in the air over their heads, like a cloud ready to rain on the city below. He squeezed his hands into fists and looked at the ceiling. _Mother_. 

When Lukas looked back at Mathias, he saw that Mathias had stood up from his seat. Though Mathias was only about four inches taller than Lukas, he felt so small at that moment, looking into the glassy blue eyes of the Dane. Lukas gripped his hands together and exhaled shakily. “Mathias,” he started, “look, I’m sorry for―”

“I would’ve told you, Lukas,” Mathias said in a small voice. His fingers tapped his side anxiously and he shook his head. “You don’t have to press and press. I want to tell you everything about myself… but I just… I can’t yet.”

Lukas nodded, pursing his lips and looking down. His chest felt tight and cold like it was trying to fend off the heat that Mathias emanated in his direction. He feared that if he looked into Mathias’ glass-like eyes, he would crack. Yet there was something so alluring about breaking and falling because Lukas knew that if it did happen, then Mathias might catch him and save him.

“We aren’t strangers, y’know,” Mathias said. “You can tell me anything.”

“You wouldn’t like me if I just spoke my mind willy-nilly,” Lukas replied in a quiet voice. He kept his head down in shame and his eyes were dark with tiredness. 

“You don’t know that Lukas,” he said in a steady, calm voice. Lukas shut his eyes and shook his head. His thoughts were running rampant through his mind. All he could think about was how desperately he wanted Mathias to want him―want to like him, want to spend time with him, want to make him happy. It was selfish, but Lukas didn’t care much anymore.

Lukas sighed and set the scissors down. He threaded his fingers through his hair, tugging at the light blond strands aggressively. “You didn’t even look at your hair yet, idiot,” Lukas said in a stressed tone. 

Mathias cracked an out of place smile and shrugged. “I didn't know I was allowed to.”

“Well, go on,” Lukas said, gesturing for him to go to the mirror in the bathroom upstairs. Mathias’ smile lit his features; he dashed up the stairs, taking two at a time. 

Lukas turned away from the stairs, his heart beating fast. He placed a hand on his chest and gingerly walked over to the window beside the small kitchen table. The red candles sat in their usual place and Ursula was nowhere to be seen; hopefully, she wouldn’t be knocking over any candles today. Outside, the sky was gray and cloudy, and a group of fishermen lugged a net of what appeared to be cod. Little children raced down the road, chasing a small blue ball the bounced around their feet. Life was moving so slowly that Lukas could finally pretend that there wasn’t a war being waged across the small ocean that separated Norway from the bombs and the despair.

And yet, his parents were gone.

_“Come on Lukas!”_

_“Emil, slow down, you’ll trip!”_

Memories pricked the back of his mind like tears pricking his eyes. How long could he pretend and play house while his parents were somewhere so far away from him and Emil? How long could he stay hopeful that they were safe or even alive? How long would he have to wait to finally return back to his life?

_“The cat is here!”_

_“It could bite you, Emil! Careful!”_

But he would never go back. Not after Mathias and Elizaveta had crashed into his life at the speed of sound.

_“She’s a stray…”_

He felt something brush his leg and looked down to find a familiar British shorthair weaving in between his ankles. Ursula was treading beneath him, flicking her tail around his legs and purring like a madman. He laughed jarringly and exhaled deeply. The tension inside of his chest threatened to squeeze his lungs shut and restrict his breathing. And why was he crying?

_It was summer, 1937 again. The sun was shining into Lukas’ eyes as his feet pounded against the cobblestone streets and sweat dripped from his brow. He chased Emil, who ran much faster than he did. His pale skin glowed gold, and his smiling face was adorned with patches of red from the sun beating down on his fair complexion. Lukas’ face was red as well, though the sprinting attributed to that greatly._

_“I found her while I was playing!” Emil cried out, waving his arm in a gesture for Lukas to follow him. “She’s a baby cat!”_

_“Kitten,” Lukas corrected, though Emil didn’t seem to hear. His knee-high socks were falling down and Lukas was almost certain that he had just chipped his brand new pair of play shoes._ Mamma just bought those for him _, Lukas thought with a scowl plastered onto his face. He pushed his legs to move faster._

_When Emil finally stopped by an old run down mill with a wooden water wheel stuck eternally into the side of the abandoned stone house, Lukas was sure that they were in the wrong spot. Emil had said he had found the cat just down the road, not a five minute run away from the house. Lukas slowed down his run and came to a halt in front of the mill. Emil was on his hands and knees, digging past some dirt to reach under the mill with his hands. Lukas had his sweaty palms on his knees, huffing and puffing. Emil seemed to be perfectly fine._

_“Emil… stop,” Lukas said, trying to catch his breath. He brushed his pale wispy hair from his face and walked towards Emil with caution. Emil seemed to be reaching for something under the water wheel. His short arms weren’t nearly long enough to reach under the wheel._

_“She’s right here, Lukas!” Emil whine desperately. “If we don’t save her from there, she’s going to_ die _!”_

_“Emil, calm down,” Lukas said, trying to keep his voice low and steady so as not to further rile up his younger brother. Emil turned and looked up to Lukas with his wide, unusual amethyst eyes identical to their mother’s. “Is there really a kitten trapped there?”_

_“See for yourself!” Emil sputtered in an exasperated voice. He held his arms out towards the wheel. Lukas sighed deeply and joined Emil, kneeling down and leaning over the dirt bank that kept them above the small creek that flowed a few steps below them._

_Lukas craned his neck to try and see the underside of the old water wheel. It was mossy and rotting, though stable against the house. He squinted his eyes and tried to peer further. “Are you sure…?”_

_“Yes! Look! Her fur!” Emil said in a shrill voice. He pointed at the corner of the wheel closest to the house and Lukas saw it: a tuft of gray fur with a twitching tail connected to it._

_“Oh my god,” Lukas breathed quietly. Emil jumped up from his knees and Lukas followed the young boy’s movements._

_“SEE! I told you! We have to save her, she’s stuck!” Emil said triumphantly. Dirt and grass stains clung to his knobby knees, and Lukas cringed._

_Lukas stood as well, resting a hand on Emil’s shoulder in an attempt to calm him. “No, Emil, we have to get_ mamma _and_ pappa _. The cat could have a disease of some sort.” Lukas glanced back at the cat and winced slightly. He was never a fan of cats, especially not wild ones that could have possible diseases._

_“Lu, she could die! We have to―”_

_“We have to find_ mamma _and_ pappa _. Emil, we just moved here; we don’t know what the stray animals are like and we can’t just go touching and cuddling them as we please,” Lukas scolded. His voice took on a tone of authority, trying to convey to Emil that he was not going to be taking any backtalk from him at the moment._

_“You’ve lived here before,” Emil tried to argue._

_“I was three, Emil. I don’t remember much about living here.”_

_“Still!” he protested._

_“Emil―”_

_If you don’t want to get her, fine,” Emil started, putting his hands on his sides and stomping his foot. “I’ll get her and when I get a disease, you can tell me how stupid I was.” Before Lukas could even open his mouth to stop Emil, the young boy had taken two bounding steps and landed in the creek, his feet splashing the water into the hot breeze that bristled the trees. Lukas rushed to the bank, trying to walk down the muddy edge without slipping and falling in. Emil was already on his hands and knees, gently cooing and purring to try and receive the cat’s attention. His small finger tickled the cat’s tail, causing the kitten to perk up and turn her tiny head in Emil’s direction._

_Lukas slid down the muddy bank and lost his balance. His foot dipped into the cool water and submerged his ankle. He groaned and pulled his foot out, now making his way towards Emil to try and stop him. However, it was too late. When Lukas reached the water wheel just a few steps away, Emil was sitting in the mud, the kitten cradled in his arms. She looked to be sleeping, though she could have been dead as far as Lukas knew. Emil looked up at Lukas, his cheeks pink with smudges of dirt and sweat painting them. His bright eyes were full of the lights they saw in the sky back in Iceland when the winter winds blew through the lands. He held the aurora borealis in his gaze._

He thought of Emil’s light violet eyes, identical to his mother’s. He thought of Emil’s father, with his thick accent and his bashful smile when he messed up a word in Norwegian. He envisioned them, sitting at the table, smiling and watching the fishermen take off from the ports in the warm, spring air. 

What a different time it had been months and years ago before his parents disappeared before Elizaveta started to defy governments and save lives before Mathias came into Lukas’ life. 

He heard footsteps descending the stairs, but didn’t turn around to face Mathias. He breathed shakily into the palm of his hand. His skin felt as though it was burning.

He heard a voice through the ringing in his ears, though it was much calmer and quieter that Mathias’. Lukas raised his head when he felt a cold hand on his shoulder. He turned and was met by burning iridescent eyes that absorbed the sunlight piercing through the window and projected it onto Lukas. Wispy eyelashes fluttered with concern. Lukas let himself fall into Emil’s long, skinny arms. He felt Emil’s arms moved around his back to envelop Lukas ash he buried his head into Emil’s sweater and cried, really cried, for the first time in a while. Emil sighed against his hair and his fingertips sifted through his light blond locks. He felt his voice rattling through his bloodstream. 

“Breathe, Lukas,” Emil whispered. Lukas grappled for control over his breaths but lost his grip and started to shake even more. Burning hot tears poured down his cheeks. Everything was covered in a blurry filter. His vision was a vignette of Emil’s pale neck, blue sweater, and wispy white hair. It was as though the more he looked at Emil, the more he saw his mother’s prominent features shining through the Icelandic boy’s face. He squeezed his eyes shut and let his mind go blank; his thoughts were dragging him through the muddy bank by the creek, and he could no longer stay upright.

When he stopped crying and his skin no longer felt like there were streams of magma trailing through his veins, he pulled away from Emil. His face was red and splotchy from crying, but also from shame for breaking down in front of his little brother, the one he needed to be strong for. “I’m sorry,” Lukas mumbled, pinching the skin on his hand.

Emil shook his head and gently touched Lukas’ arm. “It’s fine, Lu,” Emil replied, using an old nickname from their childhood. “You’re allowed to… to feel this way.”

Lukas nodded, though inside, he knew he couldn’t afford to feel this way; there was too much he had to do, and no room for emotion to intercede. He ran a hand through his hair, ignoring the damp sweat on his scalp. “Where is Mathias?”

“He’s preoccupied with cleaning right now,” Emil explained in a calm, gentle voice. Lukas pondered as to when Emil went from adventurous, rowdy child to calm and collected teenager. “He spilled my tea all over the carpet. I had him soak the carpet in the sink and I suppose he’s scrubbing it clean right now.”

Lukas’ eyebrows came together, though he stared at the floor with a blank expression. _I didn’t hear anything_ , Lukas thought. “Why was he in your room?”

Emil smiled shyly. “To show off his great haircut of course,” Emil teased. A twang of jealousy bit at Lukas’ chest, but he brushed it away like the pesky bug that it was. Lukas nodded and crossed his arms. Ursula was still purring and dancing around Lukas’ feet. He nudged her away from him with his barefoot, and she mewed daintily. Emil kneeled down and scratched her ears, letting her climb onto his legs and knead her paws into his pants. Lukas watched in silence.

Lukas turned his head to look out the window. He imagined himself floating in the ocean, the salt water gnawing at his bare skin and stinging his eyes. He imagined someplace far away from Kristiansand, from Norway, from Europe. He wanted sleep, lemongrass, daisies, sunshine, and soft blue eyes staring into his soul.

 

…

**164 Hours Before**

Elizaveta dropped a box off on the porch.

When Lukas found the box, he was surprised at first. Elizaveta rarely left them any letters or packages. When she did, she was extra careful to make sure that her name wasn’t visible and used an alias of some sort. Most times, she just signed as “E.” This time was different, however.

Lukas picked up the box, taken aback by just how heavy it was. He hauled it into the house and examined the small note that came with it. He opened the note and silently read the neat cursive.

_Mathias,_

_I hope they like it. Remember what you told me._

_Elizaveta Héderváry_

Lukas’s eyebrows pinched together and he knelt down next to the box. He opened the flaps carefully and bent them away from the opening. His jaw dropped; inside, there was a radio. It was a very shiny wood polish and he could see the knobs on the one side of it. He quickly got to his feet and reached into the box, lifting the radio out as best as he could. It was heavy and must’ve weighed over 30lbs. Nevertheless, Lukas got it out of the box and sat down with it on the floor. He stared at it for a while, taking in all of its features. It was a very standard, if not slightly outdated radio. Lukas ran his finger along the polished wood and inspected the dust that clung to his skin when he pulled away. _Definitely an older version_ , Lukas thought to himself. 

But even after he had set the radio up next to the kitchen table, he still pondered as to what Elizaveta’s note meant. Mathias hadn’t seen Eliza since the middle of March. Lukas bit his lip in confusion and sighed. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to know what any of this meant.

Mathias and Emil came back to the house from their short excursion with smiling, pink faces, cold from the outside chill. Lukas was sitting at the kitchen table, Elizaveta’s letter in hand. He quickly scrambled to conceal it by standing and shoving it in his back pocket. The two boys trickled into the house slowly, their laughs resonating through the empty rooms.

“Can you believe it?! I just… I can’t…” Mathias came into the kitchen holding two large bags and laughing so hard that he was unable to finish whatever he had been saying to Emil. Emil followed him inside, pulling his knitted hat off and using it to cover his ridiculous smile. Mathias set the bags down and leaned against the wall holding his stomach.

Lukas blinked. “You two seem amused.”

Mathias slid to the floor, landing on his bum with a thud. Ursula, who had been stretching herself out nearby, jumped up and pounced away from the elated Dane. “Oh my god, Lukas, you should have been with us,” he said in a strained voice. His musical laugh filled every part of Lukas and made his heart jump. He struggled to keep his face straight.

“Oh really?” he questioned. He sat down at the table, ignoring the crumpled piece of paper that was in his back pocket. “What happened?”

“Mathias got in a fight!” Emil announced, though his voice faltered and he started to giggle. “This guy thought that we―”

“He thought we were a couple! Can you imagine?!” Mathias interrupted with a smile. Lukas felt cold suddenly. He watched Mathias as he stood up from the ground, bringing the bags with him. “We were shopping for… god, I don’t know. Tea? Anyways, he just came right up to me and start drilling me about my ‘boyfriend.’ I said, ‘Sir, what on earth are you talking about?’”

Emil cut in. “Mathias’ face got _bright_ red. I was almost certain that this guy was either insane or right.”

Mathias threw his scarf at Emil, who caught it against his chest and laughed. “He was _so_ aggressive, Lukas! I dodged his swing though. He wasn’t very agile at all. I just hit him and ran! I didn’t even know where we were running to, but we found our way home, thank goodness.”

Lukas nodded slowly. He felt Emil’s eyes burning into his skin, though he ignored him. Emil was probably watching him become paler with each passing second. He exhaled shakily and looked at Mathias with a stern face. “Jesus, Mathias, what were you thinking?”

Mathias’ eyebrows came together in confusion, though he still had a small smile on his bright face. “What? I was just defending myself. Nothin’ wrong with that, right?” He held his hands up in a gesture of surrender.

Lukas ran a hand through his hair. “What about the train station? People are looking for you. You can’t just...just…” he trailed off and groaned. “This isn’t something you should be laughing about. You don’t know what could come of this.”

Mathias’ smile was slowly faltering, and he looked even more defensive than before. Lukas tried to imagine this man, this gentle and kind man, getting in fistfights and running from the scene of the crime. He wondered how the adrenaline must’ve felt coursing through his veins at that moment. It must’ve felt good, he thought. It must’ve felt right to release everything into one single hit and then run away from it all. After all, he was a just a stranger to Mathias. “I’ve gotten in plenty of fights, Lukas. This guy was just being an asshole.”

Lukas laughed dryly. “Oh yeah? What if you’re just being an asshole? God, do you even think before you do these reckless things?”

Mathias was angry now ― angry and confused. Lukas would be confused if he were Mathias too. Hell, he was confused as to why he was doing this in the first place. Why did it feel so good to yell at Mathias? Why did he feel a rush when these words left his mouth? It was almost as if he wanted Mathias to fight him, just like the stranger he’d met.

“I’ve done nothing but try to help you!” Mathias protested. His blue eyes caught onto the radio and he walked over to it, gesturing profusely. “Look! I got this from Elizaveta for you two because I know you want to hear about the war but you can’t because you don’t have the radio. I know how anxious waiting for a newspaper can be so I got this for you!”

Lukas stood up and walked to the radio, putting his hand on it and looking up into Mathias’ eyes. “You think you understand what this is like, but you just don’t Mathias. As far as I'm concerned, you got this for yourself.” He felt the sweat building in his palms; the back of his throat felt dry. Was he shaking from the adrenaline in his blood or was it because of the glow in Mathias’ eyes?

“Why would I do that?!” Mathias asked in an exasperated voice. He had his hand on the radio now, and he held Lukas’ eyes with his gaze. He didn’t look angry. Perhaps he was frustrated, but there was something deeper that was running behind the glassy blue of his stare that made Lukas’ stomach churn.

Lukas laughed a little, trying not to sound too exhausted at that moment. “Isn’t this what you used to have?” Lukas asked, tapping the radio. “A radio and a barn and a beautiful girlfriend who you refuse to open up about? Is this you trying to compensate for what I ― for what _we_ can’t give you?”

“No, Lukas, that’s not it at all―”

Lukas’ heart was beating so loud that he could hear it ringing in his ears. “I know that this life isn’t what you want, but at least be more subtle about when you’re trying to escape back to what you had!” 

Suddenly, Mathias’ face dropped as though Lukas had exposed him. At this, Lukas became very surprised to see that he had managed to shut Mathias up, even if that wasn’t his main intention. The corners of Mathias’ lips quivered so microscopically that Lukas felt ashamed for being so close that he could see them. He looked down and realized that he was standing on his toes, trying to push himself to be face-to-face with Mathias. Lukas sunk down, taking a step away. His heart was beating too fast.

Mathias was quiet for a moment. His dark eyelashes kissed his smooth skin gently, a piece of blond hair fell into his eyes. Shame was tugging his features to the floor. What had Lukas said?

Finally, it was Emil who spoke up. 

“He wasn’t going to leave, Lukas,” Emil said in a quiet voice. He was holding the scarf tightly in his palms and twirling the strands of yarn anxiously. Lukas wondered how insane he looked. 

At this, Lukas became puzzled. “I don’t…” he trailed off. “What do you mean?”

“He wasn’t going to go back to Belgium. He’s staying, even if we become occupied,” Emil said quietly.

Lukas felt his stomach drop. Suddenly, he felt very hollow. “Stay. As opposed to leaving?”

Emil looked from Lukas to Mathias and then back again. His expression unfolded into that of shock. He looked at Mathias with a fiery stare, unlike anything Lukas had ever seen before. “You didn’t tell him,” he said, watching Mathias with a dark stare.

Lukas stepped away from Mathias, this time taking his hand from the radio and reaching out to grab the back of the chair. He was seeing the world through a lens again, and every movement he made felt unreal. He was no longer controlling his body, but rather seeing his movements from far away―from a third person’s perspective.

Emil walked towards Mathias swiftly. “You said you told him!” he said in a voice in between a whisper and a yell. 

Mathias finally looked up and face Emil. “Of course I didn’t tell him, Emil!” he said, waving his arms dramatically. “This was never supposed to happen! Hell, I didn’t even mean to tell you!”

 _Tell me what?_ Lukas thought as he watched the two.

“Oh, so you were just planning on be secretive?” Emil asked incredulously. He still clutched Mathias’ discarded scarf in his hands. “You know we’re better friends than that! I tell you everything, I’d never abandon you!” Lukas had never seen Emil look this old before in his life. It was hard to tell if this was even Emil, to begin with. His silvery blond hair, pale skin, and small frame told him that yes, this was his little brother. But the fire in his eyes was unlike anything Lukas had seen.

Mathias gripped his hair, trying to reach for recently cut strands and failing to find anything to hold onto. His hands dropped to his sides. “I _wasn’t_ going to leave you two! I’m _not_ going to leave you two!”

Emil sighed tiredly. “I just can’t trust that,” he said quietly. His face looked ten years older. “Not when you keep so many secrets and you lied to me about telling my own brother the truth. And the whole Emma thing―”

“Emma doesn’t matter!” Mathias cried in a desperate tone. He looked from Emil to Lukas, capturing Lukas in his stare and keeping him rooted where he stood. Mathias leaned back against the wall and shook his head like he couldn’t believe his own words. He studied Lukas, his eyes skimming over everything Lukas presented. Lukas felt his breaths shorten yet kept watching Mathias. The knot in his stomach was being pulled by Mathias’ presence like it was begging him to run to Mathias and never let him go. “Emma doesn’t matter,” Mathias reiterated. “She left. She’s apart of my past… Hell, she _is_ my past. But you are my present.” His gaze flicked over to Emil and then back to Lukas. “You are both my present and you may very well be my future.”

Lukas opened his mouth to speak. He wanted to say something. He wanted to reach out and touch Mathias’ arm, touch his shoulder, touch his neck, and his face. He wanted to let his fingertips graze over his freshly shaven skin and let his thumb dip into the crevice of his lips. He wanted to press his forehead against Mathias’ and let his heartbeat do the talking for him. But instead, Emil spoke up.

“You need to tell him, Mathias,” Emil said in a quiet voice. 

Mathias and Lukas stared at each other, trying not to look away for fear of whatever was going on in the other one’s mind. Mathias stood from his leaning position and took a step towards Lukas, eliminating the space in between the two. Lukas looked up at Mathias, taking in his luminous features through a vignette. Lukas suddenly was hit with what Mathias reminded him of. 

Summer. 

Mathias was summer in all of its glory. He was the golden sunshine and the warmth that encapsulated the hazy days of nothingness. But here, looking at Mathias and reaching for the warmth that he defined, Lukas found nothing but a wall in between the two. 

The world was silent except for Mathias’ voice and Lukas’ breathing. “I went to Elizaveta’s,” he said, in a whisper. “I got lost and I found myself there. I asked her to get me out of the country so that I wouldn’t be here if we become occupied… She said―she said things were bad, and she’s _right_. But she told me you bottle things up and I know that this isn’t what you want to hear, but she’s right. And she’s doing more than you know and more than you think. And you’re right, I do miss Belgium, but Belgium is just a country, and my house is just a house, and my barn is just a barn, and Emma is just a person. But you are… so much more than just a person to me. You are more than what Emma was because even when I thought she was my best friend, she left for greener pastures. And I refuse to do that to you, Lukas. I refuse to drop my responsibilities here and run away.”

Lukas blinked. He felt his skin turning into lead. He said the only logical thing he could think of at the time. “I need to speak in a language I understand,” he whispered.

Mathias nodded quickly, his eyes becoming a blur to Lukas’ mind. “In Norwegian, you mean?”

Lukas nodded in agreement. “Can you understand?” he asked, testing his native tongue out for what felt like the first time in a lifetime. Suddenly everything in his mind made sense.

Mathias smiled slightly. A tear slid down his face. “A little bit,” he replied. 

Lukas nodded and gripped his hands into fists. “I’m going to sleep at Eliza’s tonight,” he said quietly. “Can you watch Emil?”

Mathias nodded. “Yes. Of course. What time will you be back tomorrow?”

Lukas looked down at his feet, his hands moving to his pocket to crush Elizaveta’s note. “Soon.” He looked up at Mathias one more time and then pushed past him and Emil, making his way to the stairs. Through his blurred vision, he ran to his room and grabbed a pencil from his drawer, trying to think of coherent English words.

He took out the note and started to scrawl nonsense on the back. He wasn’t sure what he was saying, but he kept writing until there was no space left. Lukas paced to his drawer once more and pulled out an oversized sweater, throwing it over his shoulders in a rush. And finally, when he was almost finished tying his shoes, he saw a shadow looming in his doorway. He turned to face the figure only to see that Mathias had followed him.

Lukas sighed. “I think you need to go.”

Mathias walked into the dark room, taking slow steps until he was face-to-face with Lukas. “I need to talk to you,” he said in a low voice.

Lukas sighed and pulled down the sleeves of his sweater. “Can it wait? I just… I need to think of what I need to say.”

Mathias loomed over him; his hands were fidgeting at his sides. “Please, Lukas, I just need to say something to you―anything.”

The starlight from the windows cast strange disfigured shadows on the wooden floor. Dust particles floated in the blinding light that trickled in from the hallway. Everything felt sharp and restraining like there were small knives digging into Lukas’ exposed skin. He touched his neck gingerly and then took the note from his pocket. Lukas took Mathias cold―no, _freezing_ ―hand and opened his palm, placing the note into his hand.

“Tonight,” Lukas said in a breathy voice. “I need you to come to me tonight. We can talk at Elizaveta’s, I promise.” His indigo-blue eyes were wide and pleading. Mathias looked down at him in confusion.

“Why can’t I talk to you now?” he asked.

Lukas looked past him and into the hallway, all too aware of Mathias’ hand resting on his own. “Emil. And Ursula,” he lied. Why was he doing this? Why was he making such a fuss about Mathias visiting him alone?

 _Because that’s what I want_ , Lukas thought. _I want him all to myself_.

Mathias simply nodded. Maybe he was at a loss for words as well. He looked down at their intertwined hands, and only then did Lukas realized how close they were. He could feel Mathias warm breath hitting the back of his hand and sending chills up his spine. Their toes were touching, their chests were inches apart. Had they been locked in an embrace, Lukas was sure that he’d become lost in the sound of their hearts beating together in perfect sync. Suddenly there were frigid fingers sliding under Lukas’ chin, compelling him to look up into Mathias’ dreamy stare. At that moment, everything seemed to become swallowed in the blue of Mathias’ eyes. From their touching toes to their interlaced fingers, to their unwavering stare. And for a moment, the blue wasn’t overpowering, like the sea that was just outside their house. The blue was warm, calm, sleepy… it was summer again and he was allowing himself to melt. 

Mathias dipped down and tilted his head so that his lips were just inches away from Lukas’ ear. There were chills running up and down his spine. Mathias’ voice was a soft and tranquil whisper, a feather running across the side of Lukas’ face.

“‘ _You pierce my soul. I am half agony, half hope_ ,’” he started slowly. “I used to think that Jane Austen was wrong when she wrote that. But damn, Lukas. You’ve shown me that those are the truest words ever written. More reliable than any Bible verse I’ve memorized.” He pulled back. Lukas’s eyes were wide. Mathias pulled his hand from Lukas’ taking the note with him. Lukas suddenly felt colder than he’d ever been in his entire life.

“I’ll see you at Elizaveta’s,” Mathias said, finally. He backed away from Lukas slowly, as though he didn’t want to let go. Lukas didn’t watch him and instead kept his eyes trained on the ground. 

_I have loved none but you_ , Lukas thought, finishing the quote in his head. He pinched his hand. He tugged his hair. He pulled the sweater off his face and exhaled shakily into the thick fabric because this was more than just appreciation for the Danish boy. This was more than just a crush.   
And though he didn’t know what love was, he was sure this wasn’t love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I love you. (if you didn't guess that i'm surprised lol)
> 
> to start off, WOW that was a hard chapter to write. 
> 
> i'm still so meh about it and you all deserve the best so i will be going back and editing this chapter as soon as i get the opportunity. school has been calming down enough that i've been able to write more and more. 
> 
> some insight on this chapter, specifically about lukas:  
> lukas' actions aren’t really supposed to be making any sense at this point. he's meant to be coming off as a little out of his right mind and impulsive b/c of everything that's being placed on him (providing for everyone, denying his feelings for Mathias, etc.) i know that some people might be quick to point out that his actions throughout this chapter don't necessarily make sense and/or contradict his thoughts or words, however that's the portrayal of him i was going for-- i.e. he's starting to break down because of his burdens. 
> 
> in other news, i've decided that elizaveta is going to get a prequel about her story. it'll probably be about 25 chapters at most, but i'm still in the process of writing it.
> 
> again, apologies for any spelling and/or grammatical errors! thanks for reading :) reviews and comments cost $0 and really help me to keep going :)
> 
> see you in the next one,  
> tate


	11. Spring

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **“A song is not a song until you sing it. A bell is not a bell until you ring it. Love is not Love until you give it away” ― George Gershwin**

**April 2nd, 1940 ― Kristiansand, Norway  
162 Hours Before**

_Mathias,_

_4634 Trolldalstien Street. Don’t knock._

That’s all Lukas gave him.

And damn, did it sting.

Mathias wasn’t quite sure what happened. One minute, he and Emil were shopping for tea, and the next, Lukas was tripping out of the house, trying not to meet Mathias’ pleading gaze. 

And damn, did it sting.

Mathias sat with his head resting against his hand. The hallway was dim and no one, not even Ursula, made a sound to indicate that he wasn’t alone in this house. In his left hand, the note was crumpled in between his fists, resting between his knees. He tugged the strands of his hair, wondering if he should be feeling anything.

His heart stung, that he knew. But other than that he was unsure of the feeling in his chest. It was so foreign and strange that he couldn’t even think to begin to name it. What do you call the sharp pain you feel in your heart when you hurt someone you care about.

He looked down, resting his head on his hands. It was late, and the sun was trying to keep its grip on the sky, but it was losing, being dragged somewhere far away. He thought of America, and how the sun was still bright in the sky. What time was it there? Was it as cold as it was in Norway? The air cold air clung to his clothes like water, unrelenting, dragging him down.

Nothing was right. But he didn’t feel anything.

After a few more moments of staring at the ground with an emotionless, thousand mile stare, he squeezed his hands into fists and forced himself to stand up. 

Mathias felt lightheaded and surprisingly hollow like he was just a scarecrow of some sorts rather than a human being. He stumbled a few steps towards the stairs and sized them up. He remembered his first stay here, the way the stairs intimidated him and his weak, fragile form. He wonders how long ago that had been. It felt like a hundred years had passed since he’d woke up, sweating in Lukas’ warm bed, wearing his thick sweater. 

He ran his fingertips along the side of his leg and tried to imagine being that warmth again. He carefully stepped down one stair, and then another, and tried to pretend that he wasn’t all alone. He tried to imagine that Emil was downstairs in the kitchen, blasting Glenn Miller and burning his fingers on the oven. 

When Mathias did make it down the stairs, however, he was surprised to see Emil sitting by himself in the room with the piano and the glass doors that shut it off from the rest of the house. 

Emil sat at the small love seat across from the grand piano, a small book propped in his lap and a strained expression on his face. Emil’s hair was messy, and he still hadn’t taken off his coat from when he and Mathias had gone out to buy the groceries. His feet were curled up onto the cushion.

Mathias walked to the glass doors and opened them slightly, testing to see if Emil was ready to talk about anything. Though Mathias wasn’t quite sure what Lukas was to him, he knew he needed to talk to him. Emil was like a little brother to him; he felt he had to say something about the argument. 

Mathias approached the doorway to the room and rested his forehead against the wooden frame of the doorway. He cleared his throat, gaining Emil’s attention.

Emil looked up, confused at first, but then his face settling into an expression of sour emotionlessness. He shut the book quietly and turned to face Mathias. 

“What is it?” Emil asked in a controlled voice.

Mathias kicked the toe of his shoe into the floor. “Do you mind if I go out for the night?” he asked in a shy voice. He didn't want to push his boundaries, but what kind of friend was he if he left Emil all by himself at such a late hour?

“I hope you don’t mean you plan on chasing after Lukas,” Emil replied sharply. “If I were you, I’d let him be.”

“No,” Mathias lied. “No, I’m not going after him. I just need to walk around a little. I just need to get some air.”

“Open a window.”

“Emil,” Mathias tried in a tired tone. “You know what I mean.”

“Fine. Just go run away from your problems. Never stopped you before,” Emil said, reaching for his book and flipping to a random page. Mathias saw the cover: _Familiebilder_ *, it read. His eyebrows came together in annoyance and he sighed loudly.

“How do you expect me to fix anything when you’re so unwilling to listen to me?” he asked in a desperate voice. “That’s not how friendships work, Emil.”

“Just go,” Emil muttered. His fingertips were white, pressing into the edges of the book. The darkness of the room cast shadows over his eyes and made him look older, almost like a shadow himself. The only light color in the room was the white from his hair.

“Emil,” Mathias pleaded. “I can’t fix this if you don’t listen to me. I mean, shit, what else can I do?”

“Go, Mathias,” Emil said in a whisper. “Just go.”

Mathias looked at him, his mouth ajar, trying to think of something to say. Something that would save this moment and make everything right. But he couldn’t fathom any words he could say to fix this. Hell, how was he supposed to fix this when Emil wouldn’t him in? What was Emil feeling that couldn’t be fixed by words? 

He raked a hand through his hair, still alarmed by just how short it was. He raised his head from it’s leaning position against the door and gripped his arm. Quietly, he closed the door and walked towards the coat hanger near the entrance to the house. 

His coat hung here, along with his scarf and Lukas’ abandoned coat. Mathias sighed in exasperation and shrugged his coat and scarf on, then grabbed Lukas’ coat. _What was he thinking_ , Mathias thought to himself. _He can’t go out without a coat. It’s freezing._

He pulled open the door, his heart tight and trying to grab him back to his spot leaning in the doorway. Mathias shut his eyes and tried to imagine a scenario where Emil invites him to sit, and they talk, and then Emil throws his arms around Mathias and cries about how he feels abandoned because Mathias can see right through him. The youngest, dubbed the most fragile, always trying to prove himself. Always trying to keep his head above the water and contribute, even if it means losing his breath. Emil felt guilty for not seeing his brother’s struggles sooner, but could Mathias blame him? He was always trying to stay distracted. 

But Emil says nothing as Mathias steps out into the frigid air. He remains in his curled up, catlike position on the couch and ignores the heavy footsteps that leave him sitting by himself.

Mathias thinks about the photo album in Emil’s hand. He wonders if someday, none of this will matter.

…

After passing Kuholmsveien Street for the 4th time, Mathias accepted that he’d gotten lost. 

These houses that perch just above the small beaches were dark, and they all looked identical to the other. He felt as though was lost in a forest and that he’d circled the same tree for the third time since he’d left the house.

The streets were empty and dark. The ports were barren, the only sound being the water gently lapping against the docks. He finally gave up walking in circles and stopped in his tracks, leaning against a sleek black car and opening the crumpled note. Mathias smoothed the paper out with his thumb and squinted to read the rather messy handwriting. It was smudged now, from being manhandled so poorly by Mathias. The pencil marks were smudged through the creases and although still legible, Mathias knew that this was the only help he’d be getting from this paper anymore. Come on, Lukas, he thought, trying to reach out to Lukas in some way. He looked up at the stars that covered the sky like a blanket. Just give me some sort of sign.

And then he waited for a little, opening his eyes once or twice and raising an eyebrow. The stars were unresponsive, simply blinking in the darkness. 

“Oh, come on, cut me some slack! I’m lost in a foreign country for Christ’s sake,” he blurted out in angry Danish. He hadn’t meant to speak in his native tongue but damn, did it feel good to revert back to a language that made sense. He pressed a finger to lips, trying to imagine it as a cigarette. He needed a cigarette badly.

Although the stars were ignoring him, he huffed and continued forward, trying to find a street sign other than Kuholmsveien. _What an ugly word_ , he thought, taking an alleyway to cut across into the next street. _Kuholmsveien_. He pretended to gag and nearly tripped over a box resting in the alleyway. _I hate it. You will never find a street named Kuholmsveien in Belgium or Denmark_.

Mathias ran his fingers along the wall of a house, trying to force his eyes to see the object around him, but falling short. It was so dark that he couldn’t even see his hand skimming over the smoothed walls of the houses. 

When he finally stumbled out of the alleyway, he kicked an empty can into a hedge and shoved his hands into his pockets. He was in some sort of back street behind the houses. Perhaps a bicycle lane of sorts. “This entire country is backward,” he mumbled to himself. He took a hand out of his pocket and pointed from left to right trying to figure out a way to go. Well shit, he thought. He shut his eyes, spun around twice and found himself facing left. Fair enough, he nodded and started to stroll down the cobblestone path. 

The stars provided the only light that was keeping him from tripping over the jutting rocks in his path. He kept his head down, strands of blond hair dipping into his line of sight and tickling the bridge of his nose. 

When he got to the end the strange path, he found himself confronted by an unrelenting hedge. His eyebrows pinched together, wondering why he had taken the path that sure enough led to a dead end. He turned around and got ready to walk the other direction, but through the darkness, he could see that there was no outlet on that end either. He placed a hand on top of his head, breathing out deeply and watching his breath cloud up and come out in front of him. He turned back to the other direction, and then back again. 

“Now what?” he mumbled to himself.

He walked back in the initial direction and got close to the hedge, scrutinizing it closely. “Come on, can you, just… move?” he asked in whiny sounding Danish. He felt like a kid again, speaking the language our his childhood. “I have someone to find and it’s just so annoying that you’re here. And that I’m speaking to you like you’re something other than a bush.” Mathias looked up at the unresponsive bush and laughed a little raking a hand through his hair. “I’m really losing it, huh?”

He was about to turn around when the wind picked up, sending the edges of his jacket flying back so that they were no longer covering his torso. He shivered and watched as a few pieces of ripped newspaper flew towards the hedge and into a small covered path that led through the bushes. Mathias raised his eyebrows and pulled his jacket back around himself. When the wind stopped, he looked up at the stars, arms outward and palms up, He smirked and tilted his head. “Glad we’re finally cooperating,” he said to that stars. He turned towards the covered path, ducking under the branches of the hedges and jogging down the path. His strides were long and fast, and the cold branches brushed his cheeks and his forehead like they were placing kisses on his skin. He saw small red buds growing on the bushes but ignored the temptation to examine them and kept pushing himself.

When he finally got to a clearing, he saw two houses, a flag post, and a worn down, barely legible street sign that said Trolldalstien*. 

He looked around and confirmed that the path he had taken indeed did look like a troll valley path. There were bushes with red buds growing on them, waiting for the warm air so that they could produce berries. A cool breeze sifted through the coarse sandy road beneath his feet and caused the Norwegian flag that was strung on the flagpole to quiver. He walked out into the clearing more and examined the two houses. The gurgle of water and the hush of the waves indicated that the houses were stationed over a beach of sorts. Mathias gingerly stepped towards the two, looking at the ground. He was looking for tracks―something to indicate that Lukas was close by. He pulled the paper out of his pocket and looked at the number: 4637. He caught sight of a small mailbox of sorts and walked to it to examine the number on the side.

“Yes!” he whispered to himself. “That is my new favorite number. 4637, baby!”

Mathias wandered closer to the house, a stone path presenting itself and beckoning him forward. It was laid out beside the house, which, strangely, was dark and seemingly empty. He took the stone path, careful not to trip and kept his gaze set on the house. The siding was the same as the rest of the houses in Kristiansand, though seeing such a large home separate from any other houses was strange. Even Lukas and Emil’s house was connected on either side, though less so than the others because of its location on the corner. But this house was large and stood by itself. The roof was a corally red and shiny due to the moonlight that hit it. There were windows, though nothing inside of it was visible. He took his attention from the house and focused on the stone path. _Creepy_ , he thought to himself.

Mathias reached the back of the house and stopped dead in his tracks.

The view was unlike anything he’d ever seen.

Cold, deep blue ocean lapped against the pale white beaches, toned silver from the moonlight that shone down on the shore. There some small boats tied up to docks, shifting and swaying in the calm crashing of the gentle waves. He could see the land encircling this small part of the shore and felt as though he was looking at a lake, not an ocean. Kristiansand wasn’t even close to being at the complete outer edge of the country that touched the sea. This couldn’t be the Atlantic. This felt like a different ocean.

And there was a tall gray figure that loomed over the shore, his feet stuck in the sand and his hands in his pocket. He could’ve been a shadow, but to Mathias, he was so much more than just a figure. 

Before he could render, his feet were carrying him to the shores, kicking through the small underbrush that grew at the edges of the sand and the dirt. Berries and thorns stained his shoes and pant legs red with pricks and juice but he didn’t see. All he could see was Lukas and the cloud of his breath as it puffed out in front of him. The world was a little bit colder in Norway, this country with pools of ice and silvery-grey skies. But the red feeling that Mathias’ heart created when he looked into Lukas’ enchanting blue eyes was what made Norway the warmest country of all.

Mathias’ shoe caught onto a thick root that protruded from the ground, and he felt his leg give and his shoulder collided with the ground. His body was thrown the rest of the way down the hill, a swirl of colors melding in front of him and his head too confused to understand them. When his back felt the slap of sand, he scrambled up, unbalanced and fell over once more before finally pulling himself up and forcing his legs to sprint.

Lukas’ bright blond hair shifted in the wind. Mathias felt his ankle bleeding and sand sinking into his shoes, but he ignored it and let his feet hit the ground in sync with the pounding he felt in his heart. His hair flew out of his face for once, and he could only see the ocean, the stars, and Lukas.

And when he reached him, he didn’t think twice about boundaries or hesitation. He reached out, his arms taking Lukas’ body from behind and pulling him tight into his chest, holding him there, trying to breathe in every part of him because it had only been a few hours and it was already too long since Mathias had seen him. Lukas turned at his touch, his eyes wide for a moment, but falling shut quickly after. He let his head fall back against Mathias' shoulder. 

Mathias buried his nose into the side of Lukas’ head, taking in the smell of him. He smelled like chamomiles and sage and winter and sleep. He dipped his head farther and let the tip of his nose brush Lukas’ exposed neck, caressing his unusually hot skin. At shivered and turned to face him, embracing him a much more proper hug. Mathias rested his head against the back of Lukas’ head, threading his fingers through the wispy locks. Lukas’ arms awkwardly traveled around Mathias’ waist, not attempting to pull him closer, but simply basking in the warmth he provided, so Mathias thought. His head still rested on Mathias’ shoulder, his fingertips gently pressing through the thick fabric of his coat and into his spine.

And they stayed there for what could’ve been years in Mathias’ mind. They stood on the beach, ankle bleeding, ocean pulling the sand into its gaping mouth, the stars watching anxiously overhead, ready to alert them of any danger.

But there was no danger when he was holding Lukas so closely to his exploding heartbeat.

The waves moved in slow motion, and time felt unreal. He basked in the warmth of Lukas, breathing in every deep shade in his eyes, every pinch of his eyebrows and every soothing breath that exited his lips.

Finally, after what felt like an hour, Lukas spoke up, prodding Mathias to open his eyes.

“You came,” Lukas said in a breathless voice. “I didn’t think you would.”

“Of course I did,” Mathias whispered. His breath caused Lukas’ hair to move ever so slightly.

“Why?”

Mathias exhaled shakily, pulling Lukas tighter against his chest and searching for something to say. Because he had never been able to express this emotion before, and now it was in front of him, waiting to pounce on the words he could not find. 

“I needed to see you,” is what he managed to choke out. He sounded unsure but nodded in agreement with his statement. “I needed to see you,” he repeated. He spread his hand out on his back, trying to take in as much of Lukas as he could with just one hand.

Lukas shivered, most likely from the cold, and Mathias quickly perked up, pulling back ever-so-slightly. “You’re freezing, Lukas,” he said in a concerned voice. With a shaky breath, he reached down to the sand where he had dropped Lukas’ coat and picked it up, quickly wrapping it around Lukas’ shoulders.

“I can put it on myself,” Lukas mumbled. 

Mathias held his hands up and leaned away from him. “Sorry, sorry,” he said softly. At this Lukas slowed his actions to give him a look of remorse for his hasty words. He shrugged the coat on and beckoned for Mathias to come closer.

“Let’s sit,” Lukas says, his eyes on the ground beneath them.

The sand is damp and chilly, but Mathias did as he is told and sat with his legs crossed on the sand, chipped Oxfords shiny from dew and full of pebbles. Had it not been below freezing, Mathias could’ve imagined summertime at this extremely small and private beach. The sun would shine and the waves would reflect the golden light into the windows of the red and cream houses surrounded by flourishing underbrush. But it was a chilly April night, and the silver clouds that streaked the sky were trying to pull the sun from it’s resting place with all of the efforts they could manage.

Lukas sat close to him, not shimmying away or caring that their knees were touching. He shoved his hands into his pockets and burying his chin into his collar, leaving only his blue eyes, the same blue as the ocean. They sat in silence, Mathias watching as Lukas fidgeted around. After a moment, Lukas spoke up. “I went to the station and waited for my parents,” he said, his voice low and gravelly.

At this, Mathias’ eyebrows pinched together. “No, Lukas, you don’t―”

“No, we both will,” Lukas interrupted. “Small facts. I’ll ask you a question and you answer as simply as you can. Then you ask me a question I’ll do the same.”

“I don’t want to force you to do this,” Mathias replied in a hushed voice. His cerulean eyes flickered over to Lukas. 

Lukas kept his eyes trained on the sand and exhaled, a puff of air floating on the wind. “I want to do this,” he said with a nod. He adjusted his sitting position so that they faced each other, both sitting Indian style with their knees touching. Lukas looked up at Mathias, eyes big and curious, Mathias felt his heart swell and resisted the urge to pull Lukas on top of him. “Now your turn: who is Emma?”

Mathias felt a small, regretful smile pull at his lips, the way it always did when someone mentioned her. He placed his hands on his knees and tapped his finger. “She was my neighbor back in Belgium, we grew up together,” he answered. Lukas gave a satisfactory nod and braced himself for Mathias’s question. Mathias sighed and raked a hand through his hair. “Emil told me this but… I trust you more. Why did your parents go to Berlin?”

“My mother’s uncle was having a funeral for his wife, or so he said,” Lukas replied, his voice clear and controlled. “What was your relationship with Emma?”

“I considered Emma to be like a twin sister. I believe she did as well, though at times she acted like she wanted something...more…?” Mathias sighed and bit the smile on his lips. Saying it out loud felt odd like he was just telling a story and that Emma was just a made up character. “Do you have any suspicions about your mother’s uncle?”

Mathias saw Lukas pinching his thigh. He hesitated before speaking: “He was becoming enraptured by the new political party that was forming and often spoke about it in their correspondence. I have never met him, but that’s what my mother said about him.” Mathias nodded. “Now, for the big question,” Lukas said, keeping his voice low, “what happened between you and Emma?”

Mathias finally lets out a pitiful chuckle and ran a hand through his hair. He gripped the roots and shook his head slightly. “Emma had a complicated life. Her family expected her to become an heiress to their fortune so they put immense pressure on her. She ran away on the first day of the new year and probably lives in America now… but I have no way of contacting her because… well because I’m here and she’s somewhere over there. I was the last person she said goodbye to and the only one she told.”

Lukas was silent, not even his breathing breaking through the wall of tension between them. Mathias felt something soft brush beneath the sleeve of his coat and was surprised to see that Lukas had placed his hand on Mathias’ hand, his fingertips caressing the inside of his wrist. He shuddered. “I’m sorry,” he said finally, his eyes lowered so that he thankfully couldn’t see the look on Mathias’ shocked face.

Mathias brushed it off as best as he could and shakes his head. “‘S fine,” he said. “How long have your parents been missing?”

“Nine months on the 9th,” Lukas responded a little too quickly for Mathias to feel comfortable. Lukas blinked and looked up, his fingers still tracing circles into Mathias’ skin. “I guess I’ve been keeping track,” Lukas starts bashfully. “Why did Emma go to America of all countries?”

“She was crazed about the whole freedom aspect. And she wanted to join a Broadway show and sing her way into fame,” he replied, a slightly doubtful tone in his voice. “My parents went there for a vacation one time and I guess she stole the idea from them.”

“I’m assuming you went with them?” Lukas asked, eyes glittering. 

Mathias shook his head and looking down, glancing at Lukas’ hand still touching his. “No, it was almost a honeymoon of sorts. They stayed in New York,” he stated. “Why didn’t your parents take you and Emil to Germany?”

“Like I said,” Lukas started, “I’ve never met this uncle of my mother. I don’t even think they’re related to be quite honest; I think they used to work together.” The air around them, though freezing, seemed a little lighter and less suffocating. It was like the more that Mathias spoke the more he wanted to speak. He wanted to just release all of these parts of him and move on so that they no longer ate him alive. He turned his head and watched the way the water moved. He thought of his mother’s blue eyes, identical to his, and wondered if he’d ever be able to look at himself again without picking apart the pieces of his face that belonged to her.

Lukas cleared his throat and continued to his next question. “Did you love Emma?”

Mathias froze up, and for a moment, he was back in the barn. It was January and everything was freezing except for Emma, who seemed to radiate warmth wherever she went. _I don't have anything fancy to give so just take this to remember me by_ , he had said looking down. She had reached out and took the ragged piece of cloth they had used as a bookmark when they were children from his hands. She had put in safely in her coat pocket. She had walked forward, two clicks of her heels, and fell against Mathias, her arms hugging him tightly.

 _How could I ever forget about you?_ she asked.

“Yes, I did,” he said quietly. “I do love her. I will always love her. But if you’re asking if I… I want to date her or―or marry her, then no. She’s like a sister.” He felt compelled to add the last part. He knew Lukas was thrown off my Emma, though he was never sure why. Why couldn’t he love a girl and not date her?

“I understand,” Lukas said, nodding. The waves were starting to get a bit closer to them, though they made no efforts to move. “I just have never had a relationship like that before.”

Mathias nodded as well. His hands were starting to shake slightly, mostly due to the cold, so he moved his palm and faced it upwards, taking Lukas’ hand in his. He didn’t look at Lukas’ expression for fear that it might be one of disgust. He spoke before any words could come from Lukas’ lips. “Why are we here? I mean, why this specific location?”

Lukas’ had turned, hair falling into his eyes and he looked up at the house. “This was where my mother and father lived when I was born―before he died, obviously. I just...felt like I needed to come back.”

“Do you remember it here?” Mathias inquired.

He nodded and glanced down at their intertwined hands. “Bits and pieces. Like the beach during the summer, and trying to chase after my dad but not being fast enough. I remember falling―that was a huge trend when I was three. I remember the winter too when it snowed all the time and we stayed inside with a fire going.” His eyes were locked on the house, running over the exterior hungrily. Mathias understood his need.

After a moment, Lukas peeled his eyes from the house. “Anyways,” he started, “do you remember Denmark?”

At this, Mathis shook his head. “No. I don’t remember living there at all. However, my parents and I visit―well, _used_ to visit it at least twice a year. To see family and such.”

Lukas seemed to shift uncomfortably at the change of wording Mathias used. _Used to_. His hand was freezing, colder than a corpse’s hand. Mathias watched him look away, always uncomfortable with anything that had to do with expressing one’s emotions. He wondered how Emil managed it. Hell, he wondered how he’d be able to manage it.

“Lukas,” Mathias said in a gentle whisper, “we don’t have to talk about this if you’re uncomfortable… I mean we’ve already opened up to each other about so many things.” He nodded in agreement, not daring to open his mouth or make an effort to reply. Mathias struggled to find words that would appeal to him. “And it’s fucking _freezing_ out, y’know,” he continued with a smile. Lukas only shook his head and drew his coat closer around his body.

“Let’s just watch the stars for now,” Lukas whispered. He released Mathias’ hand for a moment, and laid himself flat on the sand, his eyes locked against the night sky like there was nothing more important in the world. Mathias hesitated, but eventually followed his movements and laid down in the damp, cold sand next to him. Almost as soon as Mathias was next to him, Lukas reached out and grabbed his hand again, holding tightly as though he was afraid that if he let go, that Mathias would leave him. Mathias turned his head to look at Lukas, sand catching onto his blond strands of hair, and observed his beauty in the starlight. His black lashes were long and his eyes were half-lidded. He was tired, that’s for sure, but Mathias couldn’t bring himself to take him back home just yet. He figured that Lukas wanted to be as far away from home as possible right now, though he wasn’t sure why he wanted to see Mathias after everything that had happened.

Mathias turned his head and looked up at the sky, only for what felt like a few seconds because, without warning, Lukas moved closer to Mathias, their arms touching together now. Mathias looked over at him, heart beating rapidly and breath shaky. His arm felt like it was burning in every spot that Lukas touched him. Lukas glanced from the sky to him, an unfamiliar glint in his deep blue eyes. He looked somewhat lost like even he wasn’t quite sure what was happening either. Lukas bit his lip, trying to keep words from flooding out, but frankly, that’s all that Mathias wanted to hear.

“I don’t mean to sound dramatic,” Lukas started, his voice less than a whisper. His eyes were wide as they ran over Mathias’ face, memorizing every detail. “But I can’t imagine doing this without you.”

Mathias felt his heart surge. He blinked to make sure this was real, because it felt like Lukas was getting closer to him now, and he wanted nothing more than to pull him in and press his body against his. “Doing what?” Mathias asked breathily.

Lukas shrugged. “Any of it,” he said. Mathias watched as his pale skin became a blur and the world was shut off through a vignette of pale, pearlescent light that emanated from Lukas. The stars cast shadows over Lukas’ perfect bone structure, making his cheeks look more prominent than usual and make his hair appear darker. Lukas, as Mathias had thought so many times before, perfectly resembled an angel so much so that it was hard to believe that he wasn’t Mathias could have mistaken his beauty as heavenly any time of the day.

So he reached out and touched him to make sure this was all real. Mathias felt his arm moved and his hand brush Lukas cheek, dragging his fingertips along his impossibly soft skin and resting his hand under Lukas’s chin. Lukas kept his eyes locked with his, never moving, not blinking. _This isn’t a dream,_ , he thought, heart pounding.

Mathias exhaled shakily. “Any of this?” he asked. He could feel himself moving closer and closer to Lukas, intoxicated by his warm presence that was making it so hard to tear away. He felt drunk off of Lukas, and the closer he pushed himself, the closer he wanted to be. Lukas, seemingly frozen in his spot, finally reached up and put his hand on Mathias’ face. His eyes were wandering everywhere, unrelenting, he pressed his forehead against Mathias’ and shut his eyes. 

Lukas’ voice was soft. “Let’s pretend that any of this didn’t happen,” he replied.

At this, Mathias felt his heart stop and his fingers freeze in their spot.

“Any of what?” Mathias asked in a hollow voice.

Lukas opened his eyes, meeting Mathias’ one last time. “This,” he said, bringing Mathias lips to his own.

Mathias’ eyes fluttered shut and he felt fireworks going off in his chest.

… 

Elizaveta twirled the telephone wire and leaned against her desk, trying to balance her cigarette in between her fingers. “What do you mean, ‘new agent’?” she asked, her voice sharp and her eyebrows pinched together in concern.

She hated nights like these.

She hated getting calls from her commissioner at midnight when she’d rather be sleeping instead of stressing over work and inhaling three cigarettes before the night was over. Elizaveta knew she needed to stop smoking; her younger self would be so disappointed if she knew that Eliza had taken up such a “nasty habit.” These days, she couldn’t be bothered with the antics of her teenage self, and instead smoked a cigarette to escape her own constant nagging. _You’re just withering away_ , her younger self chided.

Elizaveta took one more inhale of smoke before stabbing the cigarette out in an ashtray. _Will you shut up?_ she asked her thoughts.

“Yes,” the voice over the phone replied, his accent peeking through in some of his words. “I think you’ll be glad to know that it’s another woman.”

Elizaveta perked up. “You’re kidding,” she said, switching her grip on the phone. “These women will just throw it all away, huh?”

“Well, actually, she’s doing fine on her own. She seems to be very well-off and very positive about starting,” he replied. She heard some haunting music drifting through the background and pursed her lips. “She’s young too.”

“Ah, that explains it,” Elizaveta said. She eyed her crushed cigarette and rolled her eyes. _I really do have a problem_ , she thought to herself. “How young?”

He cleared his throat and hesitated before answering. “Just about nineteen.”

Eliza’s eyes widened. “Nineteen?! You can’t be serious, she’s practically a child!”

“Now, now, Miss Héderváry, she’s proved to be quite reliable and self-sufficient. In case you were worried, we’re actually thinking about having you train her. We think it’d be a good idea if the women stuck together because as you know, the life of a male agent versus a female agent's is quite different.” His voice was condescending. She exhaled deeply, gripping the receiver as tightly as she could without breaking.

“I’ll pass,” she said in a controlled tone. 

He sighed. “Eliza.”

“No,” she said firmly. “Find someone else, it’s not happening.”

“You’re so stubborn, you know that?” he said with a touch of amusement in his voice. “What’s so bad about having another girl to talk to? You two could end up being close.”

“Francis,” she said in a strict tone, “It’s. Not. Happening. She’s too young. I don’t need any more assignment son my plate.”

He sighed, crinkly breath pushing through the line. “Speaking of which,” he continued, “how is the tapping going?”

“Better. They’re finally speaking in a code I can understand; most of the entry they use is in Hungarian, to begin with. However, the Romanian is complete gibberish to me. You’ll have to find another translator to cover that.” She hoisted herself up onto the table and kicked her feet out, the back of her foot hitting the desk with a thud. Elizaveta pushed her hair away from her face and spoke up again. “Perhaps this new girl will be able to help.”

Francis made a noise of disagreement. “No, she only knows Dutch, French, a tiny bit of German, and English… she can read English, but speaking it is a whole other story.”

“The German should be helpful,” Elizaveta said, trying not to come off as snarky although she wishes she could sass him. _Sure_ , she thought, _hire the most useless and pretty girl and make her your assistant. Never stopped you before!_

Francis, however, picked up her tone and grunted. “You are the most difficult person I’ve ever met, Elizaveta.”

“You seem to like difficult people, Francis,” she retorted.

There was silence. Then the phone crackled and he spoke up again. “If you won’t train her, we’ll be leaving her in our American facility until she can be moved. We would like to send her to Germany as soon as possible.”

Elizaveta kicked her foot against the table. “You cannot be serious,” she replied. “You said she barely speaks German, she’s nineteen years old, and she’s in America. How do you expect her to be of any help?”

“I don’t expect anything, which is why I’m letting her take on such a risky task,” Francis said in a quite snide tone. Her eyebrows pinched together in concern. “She’s inexperienced, which makes her very replaceable. So, if she fails, there’s no loss. If she manages to find any sort of valuable information without being, then fantastic. Either way, there’s no loss to us.”

Elizaveta gripped the edge of her desk and jumped down, her feet hitting the floor with a small thud. She twisted the cord to the receiver tightly. “Do you think of all of us as disposable as her? How can you say that?”

Francis simply sighed and she listened to the music coming from the background. “This is a losing fight, Eliza. No matter what, we’re all going to die.” His voice was cold and unwavering. She felt a lump forming in her throat and struggled to find words.

“Stop being so dramatic and do what’s best for us,” she finally said after a moment of hesitation. “And get some sleep for goodness sake. It’s far too late for you to be awake. Arthur would say the same thing.”

He chuckled quietly and she could imagine him sitting at his desk by yellow lamplight, rubbing the side of his face and tugging at his crisp blond hair. She wondered if Paris was cold at this time. It couldn’t be nearly as cold as Norway at night. “You’re right,” he admitted in a tired voice. “I’ll let you sleep as well.”

“Finally,” she said, her voice deadpan, causing him to laugh once more.

“Take care of yourself. I’ll be speaking with you soon,” he said. She bit her lip and exhaled. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” she replied, quickly setting the receiver down in its holder. She sighed and leaned her head against her shoulder, her hair falling over her arm and tickling the middle of her back. She thought about the new agent, trying to decipher why this young girl would throw away her life for something so dangerous.

 _Didn’t you do that same?_ she asked herself. _Didn’t you throw away a peaceful future?_ Elizaveta saw herself, a young nineteen-year-old, taking on her dreams one step, one pirouette at a time. She leaned her head back and looked at the ceiling. 

_I did what I had to do_ , she reminded herself. _I made myself into an important person and that’s what matters._

Before she could contradict herself again, Elizaveta forced herself to stand up and walk into the kitchen. She opened a window, allowing the freezing air to flood the kitchen. Pulling a cigarette from her robe, she walked to the table, striking a match and lighting the cigarette up. The smoke filled her lungs. She shut her eyes and breathed out. Something inside her was yelling at her to pick up the phone and call Francis, to tell him not to get this girl involved in anything that they were doing. Elizaveta ran a hand through her hair and shook her head, bring the cigarette to her lips, but pausing as it touched her mouth. She was frozen in place, looking down at the cigarette in her hands and trying to think of a reason why she might’ve stopped.

 _You could be much more than this_ , she heard a voice in her head tell her. It wasn’t a younger version of herself, rather, a male’s voice, soft and familiar. She dropped her hand and looks out the window. _You were made to make a change_.

She swiftly walked to the ashtray, snuffing out the cigarette. She turned back to the kitchen window and sighed. “I’ll make a change,” she whispered. “Eventually, I’ll be dumb enough to change something.”

Elizaveta wondered where her place would be after all of this because surely the world didn’t need another failed agent in all of this mess.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *familiebilder is kinda like family photos it's a memory book. i know where i'm from we have those jawns from just about every year so
> 
> finally I got this damn update out! this chapter took a week to write and two days to edit and I'm not even sure if it's still completely cleaned up, so please excuse any grammatical or spelling errors :/ 
> 
> for this chapter I was heavily inspired by _August 2026: There Will Come Soft Rains_ by Ray Bradbury, especially when writing about Lukas' old home. if you ge tthe chance definitely give it a read -- it'll take 5 mins, promise.
> 
> because I have never been to Kristiansand, Norway although it is simply gorgeous in it's google images and pictures from my grandmother's trip to Norway, I tried to create a sea town in my mind and found myself drawing so much inspiration from Nantucket, a sea town that I actually have been to many times.
> 
> *Trolldalstien literally translates to Troll Valley Path with made me laugh. (also shoutout to Victoria for helping me with the Norwegian and Danish in this chapter and in the last few. you are SICK)
> 
> okay, SO, hi, I'm so sorry for not updating sooner than today. as you probably guessed I'm quite busy with school. I got recruited to play at 2 field hockey showcases so that's become a big part of my time. The next update will be around the beginning of Thanksgiving break, so relatively soon! I'm so glad that you all seem to like this story and thank you so much for the sweet comments. I love reading and replying to them and they truly make my day so much better :')
> 
> alsooooo, if you wantttt I have tumblr you can follow! it's **@aphsatan** , feel free to follow, message, etc.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading :) see you in the next one,  
> tate


	12. Wunderschön

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **here is the deepest secret nobody knows  
>  (here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud  
> and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows  
> higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)  
> and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart**
> 
>   **i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)  
>  ―e.e. cummings**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well well well, look who decided to finally update
> 
> "it's been ~84 years~"
> 
> ok but in all seriousness, I am so sorry for my sudden absence. I was having a hella writers block, so much so i couldn't even find the motivation to even look at my writing. but don't worry, because it's gone now. *yeets writers block down the hall*
> 
> ONE MORE THING!!!: here's a playlist with all of the songs that I've based this fic off of. it's really great when reading the entire thing back but obv u dont have to do that -- **https://open.spotify.com/user/shanmcnally2/playlist/7zxHJslFGVdAl1QxepVP3X**
> 
> right, anyways--
> 
> My inspiration from this chapter is:
> 
>  _Finding Paradise_ , a video game that I recently played and bawled my eyes out over. Seriously it’s insanely good. I made a few references to it in this chapter and maybe someone will pick up on them…? (Faye lmao I had to)
> 
> “She” by dodie. (if anyone likes dodie they might notice the lyric i put in and edited a lil bit) I would highly recommend listening to this while reading the first part c:
> 
> And _The Crown_ , a Netflix original series that I’m obsessed with.
> 
> And ~personal experiences~
> 
> Also this is slightly NSFW, so i you’re not into that stuff, sorry!!!! I promise it ends eventually, just skip over itttttt.

**April 2nd, 1940 ― Kristiansand, Norway  
160 Hours Before**

He pinched himself to make sure he wasn’t dreaming

 _This is a dream, right?_ he thought to himself. 

Mathias’ lips were so unbearably soft. He had gripped Mathias’ shoulder unintentionally, trying to stay steady as their cold lips glided together. Mathias had inhaled so sharply when Lukas had placed a shaky hand on Mathias’ arm but eventually returned the gesture, wrapping his arm around Lukas’ back and pulling him against his chest. Mathias wasn’t shaking, thank goodness. Lukas would feel ashamed if he had slipped his hand under Mathias’ shirt and felt him trembling. But he didn’t feel him trembling. In fact, Mathias felt as though his skin was burning up. Lukas let his fingers dance across Mathias’ torso, sliding them across the warmth of his pale skin and over the dips of muscle that showed just how strong he really was. He let his hand, splayed across Mathias’, extract each sound from the back of his throat and the tip of his tongue that swirled circles in Lukas’ mouth.

And he knew this was a dream. He knew that he was in his bed at home, sweating something fierce, and gripping his covers so as not to let go of this beautiful image.

So he continued to pinch himself because usually, this worked. But after the fourth time, he realized it wasn’t working when Mathias took his hand in his, stopping their kiss to look down at it.

“Why do you keep pinching yourself?” he whispered his voice husky sounding. Mathias’ breath tickled Lukas’ skin, causing him to shiver. He looked up at Lukas, pupils dilated in his clear blue eyes. There were shadows cast across his jaw and his nose.

Lukas scrambled for words, his cheeks fiery and his lips yearning to be reunited with Mathias’. “I-I don’t know, just―” he broke off, flipping his hand around and looking at his fingers interlaced with Mathias’. He exhaled shakily and shook his head in slight disbelief. “Just kiss me, Mathias,” he said in an almost terrified sounding tone.

Mathias didn’t hesitate, moving his hand to press his palm into Lukas’ cheek and cup his face there. He kept his thumb under the Norwegian boy’s chin and slowly drew circles there. As soon as Lukas’ eyes fluttered shut, his hand started to move under Mathias’ shirt again, running his icy fingertips over each divot and rise in his defined torso. He felt Mathias’ breath on his cheeks, then again on his neck as Mathias moved his lips to paint marks over Lukas’ pale neck. He felt Mathias’ teeth and tongue taking small parts of his neck and he couldn’t help but gasp, his toes curling and knee moving to rest in between Mathias’ legs. Lukas’ arm, caught under the fabric of the shirt, pulled it up to his neck, allowing for Lukas to see his chest in the pale starlight. He felt dizzy, what with Mathias kissing his neck hungrily and his eyes admiring just how beautiful this Danish boy was. Lukas felt his anxiety unravel in his stomach and used his grip on Mathias’ shoulder to push Mathias’ body into the sand and causing him to look up at Lukas, who now straddled him. Lukas wedged his lower body in between Mathias’ legs and pressed his hands into the damp, glittering sand that was beneath them. There were grains of sand clinging to Mathias’ pale blond hair and falling down the side of his face. Lukas ignored it and kissed him, deeply, passionately. Everything was deliberate and slow. Mathias’ hand teasingly gripped his hips, then slipped under his shirt and pressed into his back. Mathias dragged his fingers along the length of his spine and captured Lukas’ gasp in his mouth. Lukas bit down on Mathias’ bottom lip, staying there until Mathias made a noise in the back of his throat and took him by the waist. Mathias moved his hands lower, reaching his hips and traveling towards his inner thigh.

Lukas’ eyes opened for a split second, only to see Mathias pushing Lukas over so that Lukas now laid in the sand, staring up at the wide-eyed Dane. The moon framed Mathias’ head like a silvery halo. There were sharp angular shadows cast over every crease and line in his face. Mathias didn’t hesitate, leaning down and trying to kiss him again, but Lukas pressed his hand into his shoulder, stopping him just before their lips touched.

Mathias’ eyes seemed to lose their color. He looked down at Lukas, his eyes wide with concern and his mouth ajar. “Is something wrong?” he whispered.

Lukas’ fingers were pushing into Mathias’ shoulder, trying to grasp every inch of him in the palm of his hand. “No. I-I mean yes. But it’s not y-you. I’m just...nervous.” He exhaled shakily, the air coming out in a puff of steam. “Sorry, I don’t know what to say.”

“What are you thinking?” Mathias asked, his thoughtful eyes locked tightly with Lukas’, so much so that Lukas was compelled to look away. He felt his cheeks redden. _What’s happening to me?_ he thought.

He relaxed his iron grip on Mathias' shoulder and gently nudged him off of his body, instead of moving him so that they could hold each other while they were both in the sand. Lukas felt hot, especially with Mathias’ strong arms around him. It was like the middle of summer again, and the world was humid and warm. Mathias’ breath rustled his hair. He shivered. “This feels right but I know it’s wrong,” Lukas blurted out. “That’s what I’m thinking.”

At this, Mathias tightened his hold on Lukas and rested his chin on top of Lukas’ head. Lukas wondered what he was thinking; perhaps they were thinking the same thing. Being there felt so good but something chewed away at his mind, yelling at him, saying, _no Lukas, this is wrong_.

Could it be wrong when he was just so nice to be with?

Lukas pressed his face deeper into Mathias’ chest and tried to ignore the damp sand making his clothes soggy. He shut his eyes and pressed his lips against Mathias’ warm skin, not moving them, but just lingering there. He felt Mathias inhale deeply. 

“Do you think this was a mistake?” Mathias asked. His voice was a soft whisper.

Lukas shook his head vigorously. “No.”

“I don’t either.”

Lukas kept his eyes closed, just letting his mind do the talking rather than shoving his words through a filter. He was so sick of censoring his thoughts. “‘ _We don’t meet people by accident_ ,’” he started. “‘They are meant to cross our path for a reason.’”

Mathias laughed abruptly, his chest bouncing up and down. Lukas opened his eyes and looked up at him, a confused look in his eyes. Mathias just rested his hand on the back of Lukas’ neck and locked his bright eyes with his. “How poetic,” Mathias teased. “Who said that?”

“The greatest Greek philosopher of all―Anonymous.” Lukas looked away in slight embarrassment. “And one of us has to be the poetic one.”

“Oh, now we’re assigning roles?” Mathias asked. “I’ll be the overly-excited one who spends way too much time at pubs with his friends.”

“You don’t have friends,” Lukas said in a blunt tone. 

Mathias’ eyes flashed down at him, a playful glimmer sending Lukas’ heart into a frenzy. Mathias sat up, taking Lukas with him. His hands were underneath Lukas’ shoulders, Lukas laughing a writhing in his grip as Mathias carried the Norwegian boy towards the shore. Lukas kicked out his legs and grabbed Mathias’ wrists. “No, no, no― _MATHIAS_! Don’t you dare even think of throwing me into that water!”

“Come on, Lukas, it’s a great night for a little swim,” Mathias teased. They neared the shore, Lukas’s heels sliding in the sand and pushing against Mathias to no avail. He was too strong for Lukas to fight against. Mathias laughed, eyes creasing with joy, and nudged him even closer until the waves were kissing the tips of their shoes.

Lukas held Mathias tightly, back faced away from the water. He gripped Mathias’ chest and looked up at him with wide eyes. “Do not throw me in, Dane,” he started. “If I go down, you’ll come with me.”

Mathias bit his lip and shrugged nonchalantly. “I rather like the idea of that,” he replied slyly.

Lukas felt his cheeks redden and Mathias’ grip lessen. So he took the opportunity given and pushed Mathias away from the water. Mathias stumbled, arms held out on either side of him. 

“Ya know, you’re stronger than you look,” he said, slowly walking towards Lukas. A playful smile was smeared across his red, kiss-swollen lips. 

“Well you look like you’re about to murder me,” Lukas said with a small, almost there smile. He held his hands out. 

Mathias laughed and started to jog towards Lukas. Lukas veered away from the ocean water, turning in his heel and running through the sand. 

Sand kicked up behind him and water splashed beneath his shoes. His feet felt freezing but looking at Mathias made him feel warm all over. He looked over his shoulder at the joyful Dane, wishing he had a camera to capture this moment. Because the smile on Mathias’ face was too raw and happy to try to preserve through his memory.

So Lukas was slowed down in the breathtaking beauty of him, and Mathias came barreling up to the Norwegian boy. With spread arms, he half-tackled, half-hugged Lukas, and brought him to the sand. Lukas looked up in awe as Mathias basically straddled him, pinning him down with his knees. He smiled and brushed the hair out of Lukas’ eyes to reveal just how wide they were.

Lukas swallowed nervously. His heart was erratic. 

“Try running now,” Mathias said, happiness dripping from his tongue like honey. He pressed his lips against Lukas’ ear.

Lukas, instead of even attempting to use his arms, wrapped a leg around Mathias’ back, pulling him closer. “I’m not going to try,” Lukas whispered back, eyes lowered.

He didn’t see Mathias eyes before he leaned in to kiss Lukas again, more breathy and rushed this time. As though if he didn’t kiss Lukas, he would starve on this sandy beach.

After a moment, Lukas started to wriggle his arms. “Mathias,” he said quietly, “let me use my hands.”

Mathias continued to kiss him, but moved his knees almost immediately, letting Lukas place his hands on the sides of Mathias' hips. He swirled circles into his skin causing him to shiver. 

And just when Mathias had seemingly settled in, Lukas pushed him off, a smile on his lips. He scrambled to his feet and started to run. “Try getting me now, Dane!” he called playfully. 

Mathias, clearly shaken, sat back in the sand before stumbling to his feet. With a dazed grin, he started to run towards Lukas.

Lukas took a head start and running back to their initial spot, and then even past that and into the bushed area where they had come. He felt his heart beating rapidly as his feet touched every stone set into the ground and his hands grabbed every branch in his way. Mathias was close behind him, his laughs and his heavy breathing mixing together. Lukas kept running, arms pumping and cold air hitting his face. His breath came out in visible puffs and he only stopped when he could no longer catch his breath. He put his hands on his knees and turned around, expecting Mathias to come barrelling through the underbrush, berries staining his shirt and a smile plastered on his face. However, he didn’t come barrelling through the trees. Lukas waited, catching his breath, a worries smile tugging his lips. All was quiet except for his own breathing and the mournful coo of a nearby bird. Lukas looked up at the sky after straightening up. He put his arms over his head and looked back at the bushes. 

Finally, worry got the best of him and he tentatively stepped back into the bushes. Lukas pushed the leaves and branches out of the way of his path and glanced around. “Mathias?” he called quietly. “Just come out and scare me already.” He smiled and tried to catch sight of blue eyes hiding somewhere in the trees. But the only thing he could catch sight of was the slivers of moonlight slipping through sections of leaves and striking his skin, causing it to glow white.

He exhaled shakily and pushed some branches out of his way, trying not to get lost in the anxiousness that was shaking his thoughts wild. Lukas raked fingers through his hair, his fingers freezing to the touch, and went to set his hand on a branch. His hand slipped and he looked over, seeing that it had been broken. His eyebrows pinched together, and he turned to examine the branch. Not only was one branch broken, but an entire trail of cracked and snapped branches littered the underbrush, as though a wild animal had trampled through. His heart dropped. His feet reacted before his brain did, and suddenly he was rushing through the trees. 

Lukas’ breath came out in cloud-like puffs, hitting his face as he rushed through. He felt trees nipping his exposed skin and drawing slight tears into his coat. One branch even sliced his face, drawing a small drop of blood from his pale, snowy skin. His feet trampled leaves and dirt into the air, everything moving too slowly and too sweetly. This was supposed to be serene. This was supposed to be the moment that he realized that he was in love with Mathias, no the moment he realized he was going to be worrying about him for the rest of whatever time they had together. How much longer did they have? They’d have to go home soon, return to Emil and Ursula eventually. Maybe Mathias would leave like he planned. Maybe he’d go back to Belgium, or perhaps even farther away than that and Lukas would always be chasing his trail through an underbrush of sharp branches that felt like knives pricking his skin.

He tumbled out of the bushes so quickly that his feet tripped him and he fell into the dirt, landing on his knee with a thud. He cursed loudly and rolled over, dust clinging to his pants, and pushed his body upright. His knee felt like it was vibrating, a dull ache causing it to shake. Shutting his eyes in defeat, he buried his head in his hands and gripped his hair, tugging it lightly and trying to hold back another curse. There was a rustle of leaves from behind him, but he ignored them; he didn’t need to look to know that it was Mathias.

The hand on his back further confirmed his thoughts. Around came the Danish boy, accompanied by a dog. Lukas jumped at the sight of the large elkhound, trying to scramble away but caught by Mathias.

“I found a friend,” Mathias said sweetly, sitting down next to Lukas. Lukas looked at him blankly, trying to conceal the look of confusion and shock etched into his features. He could only bring himself to nod as Mathias’ new dog circled around them, eventually resting its head in Mathias’ lap. “What shall we name her?”

Lukas examined the Elkhound, noting the black spots on her back that could’ve been fur or dirt. He brushed her fur, rough hands catching on parts of her soft coat. “You found her, you name her,” Lukas replied. 

Mathias hummed and rested his hand on the dogs head, emanating a peacefulness that Lukas had been desperately trying to find for what felt like ages. “Well,” Mathias started, “I like Faye.”

“ _Faye_?” Lukas asked. “Doesn’t that mean ‘fairy’?”

“Yes, but she’s just so cute and sweet. I think it suits her, don’t you?” Mathias asked.

Lukas ran his hand down Faye’s back and shrugged. “I feel bad for any children you have to name, but for a dog, I suppose it’s not terrible.”

Faye, looking up with big brown eyes, nudged her nose against Lukas’ palm and snorted. She shut her eyes.

Mathias looked down at her. “I’ll give her back when we leave,” he said in a whisper. “But for now let’s pretend she really is our dog named Faye.”

Lukas didn’t respond. He continued to run his fingers through Faye’s soft fur, as though in a trance. Let’s pretend it’s all okay, he thought to himself. 

He rested his head on Mathias’ shoulder, shutting his eyes and just breathing. 

…

**April 3rd, 1940 ― Kristiansand, Norway  
154 Hours Before**

Elizaveta’s eyes were stinging. She mixed milk into her tea and placed a cigarette between her lips.

She didn’t know when she had started crying, but she knew that she didn’t stop until very early in the morning. Perhaps only an hour ago. She didn’t know; time wasn’t of importance to her anymore.

The only thing she did know was that it hurt her heart to keep thinking of the loneliness that had rooted inside her, and it hurt her eyes to keep translating words from Hungarian, into English, and then eventually into French. That’s the only way she could keep her mind off of the pain. That, and smoking through the night. The ache in her lungs was a great way to distract herself from the ache inside her heart.

And she wished she could teach her brain to learn to translate straight from Hungarian to French. She hated including English in between, but it was so hard otherwise. Her mind worked in threes, and French never really caught the essence of how complex Hungarian was. 

Elizaveta tapped her spoon on the side of the teacup, set her cigarette to the side and picked up a pencil. She started scribbling a sentence down on the paper in front of her. The Hungarian on the page no longer looked familiar, even though it was what she grew up speaking. It wasn’t home anymore; it was just another language that gave her an advantage over her enemy. She pressed the pencil into the paper. A shadow from her window frame pulled itself over her eyes and shielded her from the rising sun. It was just letters on a page that formed words that really didn’t mean anything at all. All they said were stupid codewords anyways. Sometimes they even talked about girls they had been seeing. She pressed her pencil into the paper harder, writing out a name. _S-O-L-V-E-I-G_. Solveig. Apparently, Solveig was very beautiful and lived only a few houses down. Solveig? Oh, she’s a friend of my younger sister. Isn’t that convenient! We can all go out together sometime before curfew―

She sighed, wishing Solveig was real and not just a stupid code word. It would make everything feel a little more human.

The pencil tip broke and she looked at the script. Curfew. Tossing the pencil to the side, she reached over the table and grabbed another one. Curfew, she wrote in English, then erased it and wrote it in French. 

Something prodded her memory. _It’d be so much more convenient if you could just use the French terms._ His voice was bold and strong but there was something attached to his tone that kept her from snapping. She set her pencil down and looked at the random words scrawled across the page. _I can’t use the French terms―I don’t understand them_ , her voice was softer, younger. 

She sighed and rested her head in her hands.

_He sits in the seat next to her, looking at her words with critical, unusual ruby colored eyes. The dim lighting makes them look darker, like a rich brown rather than an iridescent crimson. Elizaveta tears her gaze from him and continues to write down random phrases in shaky handwriting. He watches her hand move._

_“Don’t all ballerinas speak French?” he asks, resting a hand on the side of his head. He looks at her, dark silvery eyebrows pinched together in question. Elizaveta shrugs shyly, nervous energy causing her knee to bounce uncontrollably. She can’t seem to look at him without seeing him wearing his military attire, walking into the theater and brushing his fingers along girls’ chins. But his uniform has been discarded along with that sickening smirk, and he dons a thoughtful, curious gaze._

_“_ Oui _,” she replies with a small flash of a smile. She writes down another position and then speaks again, “But it’s harder for me to translate everything from French into Hungarian.”_

_She looks over when she hears a sharp snap from a lighter. He has a cigarette in between his lips and his eyes flick over to lock with hers. He lights the cigarette and pulls it from his mouth. “Don’t look at me with that terrified look. It helps me to think.”_

_She averts her gaze and nods. He’s just smoking, she reminds herself. “Anyways, it’s much easier to just keep everything unnamed or just name them in terms that are easier to understand.”_

_He nods and exhales, smoke brushing over her cheeks. Elizaveta glances up, holding her breath, trying not to inhale. She continues writing down the next position. “Do you speak any other languages besides German, French, and Hungarian?” he asks. The smoke is the same color as his silvery-white hair._

_She nods and sets the pencil down, looking at her work. The solo is almost complete. “English,” she replies. Elizaveta looks up at him with a small smile. “And a very, very small amount of Russian.”_

_He smirks slightly, rolling his eyes and taking another drag. “Well, well, well. The communists’ language, huh?”_

_She looks down, smiling yet shaking her head. “I wouldn’t say that―they’re just languages after all.”_

_“Well, I can tell you this: you’d be very valuable if you were involved in my line of work,” he says. Their eyes meet, his red ones dancing over her skin. She can’t help but smile as she leans back in her chair. She crosses her arms._

_“Valuable?” Elizaveta questions, her voice holding a teasing tone. He looks up, dark silver eyelashes pressed together from his smirk. “How so?”_

_“Oh, please. You’re a beautiful woman who can speak four, almost five different languages. Tell me that doesn’t qualify you for at least part of my job,” he says, examining the cigarette in between his fingers. He taps the ash off and some of it lands on the table. She watches the gray specks fall, feeling her stomach doing the same_

__Beautiful _, she thinks._ Wunderschön _, specifically. She looks down, shaking her head in slight disbelief._

_“Language comes so naturally to me,” Elizaveta says, switching the topic away from her. “Perhaps ballet and French terms helped. Do you speak any other languages?”_

_He nods and sits upright, stretching his pale arms wide. His chest is strong, although she can see some sharp, angular bones peeking through. His ribcage tickles his white t-shirt. “Yes,” he says, sighing. “Let’s see… I obviously know German. I know English, Russian, some Latin, and…” he trails off. He runs a hand through his stringy white hair and shakes his head, a small embarrassed smile plastered across his cheeks. “Very, very little Hungarian.”_

_Her eyes light up. “Oh my gosh, why didn’t you say so!” Elizaveta beams. She turns her chair to face him. “Tell me what you know.”_

_“It’s extremely basic, I promise you,” he replies, waving her away like a pestering fly. “I was required to take it by my superiors. I―” He keeps his lips parted, as if he wants to say more, but stops himself._

But he stopped himself. She felt something biting into her palm, and she brought her head up. Her green eyes, stinging from staring at nothing for so long, latched onto the small pricks of blood that were beading from her nails―her nails that had been digging into her palm for the past few minutes. She cursed quietly and rubs her palm on the fabric of her robe. She looked at the table before her. Her cigarette had burned itself out.

 _Why did he stop himself_? a younger version of herself asked. 

She rubbed her temples, squeezing her tired eyes shut. “Because he had to learn Hungarian to communicate with Hungarian officials that were looking to ally with Germany, you absolute moron.”

The sky outside had become brighter, and the sunlight that dripped through the window now hit her hair instead of the window frame. Elizaveta looked out the at the many people walking around, drifting through the crisp, cold air. She watched the people walking by for a while, trying to keep her eyes focused. Every part of her body was stinging, pain seeping into her skin. The energy was being forced from every cell in her body like her nails drawing forth blood from her hand. Elizaveta raked a hand through her knotty hair. She had been too tired to wash and comb it or put it in tight curlers. She had been too exhausted to do anything except translate, reminisce, and cry. 

_How pathetic_ , a voice whispered. _You know you’re more than this, right?_

She laughed and shook her head. “No,” she replied, tucking a strand of tangled brown hair behind her ear. “This is proof that I’m nothing.”

Before she could decipher the source of the voice, it interrupted her thoughts once more. Get the door, it ordered.

At this, Elizaveta looked up, a chill seeping into the back of her spine. Her eyebrows came together and she looked around her empty kitchen. Standing from her chair, she wrapped her silky pink robe closer around her cold body and padded towards the front door. Her hair tickled her back, but she ignored it, gripping her hands into fists. After reaching the front door, she hesitated, looking at the blue painted wood and trying to see through to the foyer. She exhaled and touched the handle. It was cold. 

Elizaveta swung the door open, and before her stood a small teenage boy with stark, platinum hair.

She blinked. “Emil,” Elizaveta exhaled. He had his hand raised to knock, but now it just floated in the air beside his head. His eyes were wide with surprise; he put his hand down. “What are you doing here?” she asked. 

He eyed her, obviously taking in her rather wretched looking attire. She touched her silk robe and then looked down at her bare feet. Her frizzy hair fell into her face and she brushed it away, but her fingertips grazed her face and came away with powdery smudges of mascara. She mentally cursed and wiped the black mascara off on her robe. “I came to get Lukas. I know he’s angry and stressed but―I have to do something.”

Elizaveta stared at him blankly. His soft, purple eyes that sparkled like the night sky were concentrated on the floor. His hands were stuffed into his pockets.

“Um,” she crossed her arms and leaned her weight onto one foot. “I don’t know how else to say this except, Lukas isn’t here.”

Emil’s expression suddenly dropped into his stomach. Elizaveta felt herself wince. “What?” he asked, his voice soft and hollow sounding.

She shifted her weight onto her other leg. “Sorry, did he say he was visiting me?”

He ran a hand through his fine, soft hair. A breeze from outside caused the robes to pressed against her cold skin and his scarf flapped in the air. “Are you kidding?” he asked incredulously, his voice breaking and a nervous, pained laugh breaking through his voice. 

“N-no, I’m sorry,” Elizaveta stuttered. “What happened? Did he… run away or something?” Emil leaned in the doorway, his gaze drifting and blank. He shook his head microscopically, clearly in disbelief. She wanted to reach out, help him somehow because the tension running off his body was tangible. 

Emil sighed and exhaled shakily. “He’s such―he’s such a _fucking child_. I _cannot_ chase him anymore. I can’t keep fucking forcing him to open up and seek help.” There was a strain on his tone. This time, Elizaveta did reach out, taking him by the shoulder and pulling him into the house. Had it not been for the chilly breeze and his newly forming tears, she wasn’t sure what she would’ve done.

Elizaveta hushed him and sat him down at the table. “Watch your language, Emil. I know you're frustrated―”

“That’s an _understatement_ ,” he interrupted, purple eyes glowing with anger.

“―but you have to try and remain composed.”

“Why should I remain composed when he fu― _freaking_ runs away in the middle of the night just because Mathias and I do some grocery shopping?!”

She ignored the many questions dancing around the back of her head and tried to think of some way to comfort down this teenage boy. Sitting in the chair across from him, she put her hands in her lap and tapped her fingers against her leg.

“Look, Emil, if I’m being completely honest, I'm very sure that Lukas and Mathias will come home from whatever midnight walk they took. This town is only so big,” she whispered. The thought of Mathias wandering the streets at night made her stomach twist. How could he be so stupid? He needed to stay put, out of the public eye. It was only so long before the people of this town started to realize that they weren’t related. Hell, even Elizaveta knew something deeper was going on.

 _Running away with Mathias, huh?_ her younger self piped up. _A teenage romance, perhaps?_

 _Oh, shut up you naïve child_ , she retorted. 

_You know what’s going on here._

She scoffed and picked up her teacup. Emil looked out the window, as though he was imagining Lukas to turn up at any given moment. He exhaled and shook his head. “Am I being crazy? Or is he being selfish as fuck?”

“ _Language_ ,” she replied sharply. “And perhaps a mix of both.”

“He’s—he’s _three years older_ but acts like he’s five. I’m supposed to be the one rebelling—I’m supposed to be the one putting up a fight. He’s the older brother here, not me!” Emil spat out. He muttered something in thick Icelandic before turning away from her and the window, arms crossed. 

Elizaveta sighed and ran a hand down her face. “I don’t know what else I can do. If he comes here, I’ll give him an earful and send him home. Right now, I honk you need to b waiting at home. Just relax and focus on yourself while he’s gone. Play a record, play fetch with your cat… I don’t know. Just—just—“ _Get out of my house_ , her thoughts yelled. 

Emil’s head dropped and he turned to look at her, violet eyes glistening. His hair is so light…almost silver. _Almost white_ , her younger self cooed.

Shut up, she thought.

“I don’t wanna be alone,” Emil replied, voice soft and broken sounding. “He’s all I have.”

All I have. All I have. Her eyes feel wide and she glances around the room for something that could help her. Shit, she thinks. 

“I know, Emil, I know. But he will be okay. He always ends up okay. I promise,” she said in a shitty voice that sounded less than reassuring. 

Emil abruptly ran a hand through his hair angrily and trudged over to her door. She watched him, slightly awed by the moodiness of the teenage boy. She wondered whether or not she should care. He opened the door, turns and looks back at her like he wants to say something, decides against it and walks out. 

_He’s gone. Are you happy?_

_You’re a bitch, you know that?_ she snapped at herself. 

Her silk robe was still stained with her blood. Elizaveta looked down at it and tries to think of a time when it wasn’t so real looking.

 _Solveig_ , she thought suddenly. _What a Norwegian name._

It hits Elizaveta like a gust of wind and her eyes widen. _Solveig. Solveig. Solveig. Oh my god._ She looks at the paper and then back out the window. 

_Down the street. Past curfew. Double date. Beautiful_.

Wunderschön.

Norway. She picked up the broken pencil, paper, and script and raced to the telephone.

 _Norway is next_ , her mind screamed. 

_I’m next._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> did I just introduce prussia? i think i did ;-)  
> next chapter will be out before Sunday.
> 
> as always, comments and reviews are appreciated and help me to keep going!  
> much love,  
> tate


	13. Money and Marigolds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **“We had the stars, you and I. And this is given once only.”**  
>  ― André Aciman, _Call Me by Your Name_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ashfjdfjka finally edited this damn chapter;;
> 
> my inspiration for this chapter is:
> 
> “Speak Low” by Sarah Vaughan. I imagine Emma to this song. I believe it was originally an early Broadway song but it just was sung in these old bar/nightclub jawns. I could be wrong however bc the research I did was v old. 
> 
> “The Wonder of You” by Ray Peterson. It’s a song that’s a little bit after this time era but I seriously love it. It was featured in The Crown and I fell in love. 
> 
> Again, Finding Paradise is a huge inspo. Faye and Colin just remind me so much of Emma and Mathias. Especially Faye’s flighty and slightly mysterious personality that leaves you wondering if she really is real or just a dream. That’s just quintessential Emma. 
> 
> “Call Me By Your Name” a movie that came out recently. My best friend and I went to see it and just holy shit. It’s literally everything. “The Mystery of Love” literally sums up the entire book. If you’re reading this (which u are!!!) def go listen to it to get the vibes of the chapters.

_**TW: slurs, homophobia** _

**April 3rd, 1940 — Kristiansand, Norway**  
**152 Hours Before**

Mathias woke up surrounded by darkness.

There was a warm, almost suffocating navy blue duvet thrown over his body. Two pillows were stacked behind his head, and his shirt was laying on the floor. He let his eyes adjust to the dark lighting and stretched his arms out. His fingers brushed something soft and warm.

He turned to his side and saw a thin, pale boy who laid facing away from him. His shirt was also off, and his back was exposed to Mathias. It was smooth like velvet. His white-blond hair was disheveled, sticking up in places where he had been sleeping on it. His chest expanded and deflated slowly, hypnotically. Mathias reached out, as though he was in a dream. His heart felt like it was going to pound out of his chest at any second. His fingertips landed on Lukas’ back, cold at first but quickly becoming accustomed to his soft, warm skin. He slowly dragged his fingers along Lukas’ spine, scooting closer to the boy. Lukas’ head moved slightly and he turned to look over his shoulder at Mathias.

Mathias smiled sleepily, nothing the drowsiness in Lukas’ dark eyes. “Good morning,” he said gently.

Lukas, who seemed to be only half awake, ignored him and instead scooted closer to him. He wrapped his arm around Mathias’ torso and placed his head under his chin. Lukas fell back asleep in moments.

The room was dark, but Mathias knew that the sun was just starting to rise outside. Hopefully, he’d have a few more minutes with Lukas before he would have to get up and find another place to sleep. He didn’t want Emil—or anyone for that matter—to see them like this. He pulled Lukas closer, smoothed out his hair, and shut his eyes for the time being.

…

He woke up an hour later.

He groaned tiredly, reaching out to feel Lukas’ skin as though to reassure himself, only to find that the Norwegian boy had gotten up, covers thrown back. That was the only trace of Lukas that Mathias could find. He sat up, leaning on his elbows, and ran a hand through his hair. Everything was still dark and sleepy. Had he not felt anxiety blossoming in his chest, he would’ve fallen back to sleep under the warm covers. Reality felt a little altered when he was swimming in warmth and Lukas’ smell.

Mathias swung his legs over the bed and let his bare feet touch the cold floor. He shivered and stood up. His shirt had been thrown on the floor—hopefully thanks to Lukas. He leaned over the pick it up, only to look down at his chest and gasp quietly.

Four raspberry red marks were dotted over his chest. One on his collarbone, one on his left ribcage, and two meticulously placed on his stomach. He brushed them tentatively, as though making sure they were real. “Damn,” he whispered to himself. Mathias pulled the long sleeve shirt over his head and went to the mirror in the far corner of the room above the desk. A small sliver of a pink lovebite peeked over his collar. He sighed and rubbed his neck. _Well, what can you do?_ he thought, defeated, but not upset. He pulled the shirt up higher so as to just cover the mark, hoping the shirt wouldn’t slip down too far.

Mathias turned and walked towards the door, opening it slowly and peeking out. The door to all of the other rooms in the house had been opened except for the one to the master bedroom—Lukas’ parents' room. He eyed is suspiciously but decided to continue to go downstairs.

He got to the bottom of the stairs and paused, scratching the back of his head and looking around. He half expected Ursula to appear out of nowhere to guide him to the next adventure that awaited him. However, it seemed even Ursula was off duty during the mornings. He shuffled towards the kitchen.

And in the kitchen, it was eerily silent. Mathias’ eyebrows came together, confusion masking his tiredness. It was hard to remember a time when Emil wasn’t awaiting him in the kitchen with his newest songs to share and recipes to make. The kitchen was empty, golden sunlight pouring through the windows his only company. Almost instinctively, he walked to the window, unlocked it, and threw it open. He held a hand outside, letting it bask in the sunlight.

Warmth. 

It was warm. _Warm_ , warm. Not just because of the sun. because the air was warm too. Excitement laced with anticipation hitched in his throat and he held another hand out, just to be sure. Again, warmth hit his skin like sweet kisses. And he leaned his head forward, and then his chest, and then he was sitting on the window ledge, watching the waters across the road dance in the unusual sunlight.

Everything was glistening with dew, and for a moment, he could imagine that it was summer and not early April. And how unusual for early April to be so inviting. 

But only for a moment did he allow himself this comfort. Because as soon as the sunlight was appreciated, he noticed that the streets were empty of children and that only a few fishermen were casting their nets that day.

Mathias sighed before quickly walking to the front door where his shoes, coat, and sweater had been discarded. He pulled the sweater over his head, disregarding the coat but taking time to lace up his Oxfords before swinging the front door open and stepping outside.

The roads were slick with fresh water. Rain or sea spray, he was never sure, but he kept walking along the road. Elizaveta’s house was close by, that he knew. But for whatever reason, he was never sure why he could never remember exactly where it was. It had a bigger front door than the other houses and was perched on a cramped looking corner; that’s about all he knew. 

He had felt those strange jitters coming back in recent times. The ones he had when he was a child, trying desperately to read but always coming short of a vowel or two. Or when he felt the urge to get out of his seat because his body was telling him to run. Those urges were coming back, full force, biting at his skin. And though Emma had helped and now Lukas seemed to help, he knew that this was some sort of after-effect of leaving Belgium and witnessing too much trauma to even comprehend.

He couldn’t remember the train station, but sometimes, when he woke up in the mornings or suddenly lost his appetite, he knew what his body was struggling to digest.

His family was dead or missing and he was stuck in a port town hundreds of miles from where he belonged.

Mathias was momentarily blinded by the sun striking him from behind a building. Raising a hand to cover his eyes, he squinted and looked down the road, relieved to see that his feet somehow still knew the way to Elizaveta’s.

He did a skip and then started to jog down the road, careful not to slip before he reached the house on the corner of the street. The door was as he remembered, bigger than the others. Ironic for someone who seemed so unwelcoming. He knocked twice and then shoved his hands into his pockets, blowing pieces of hair from his face. Mathias leaned back on forth on his toes, waiting as patiently as he could for the door to open. But after about two minutes of standing idly, he knocked again. And then again.

“Hello?” he called. He huffed and leaned his ear against the door, hoping to hear something on the other side. To his surprise, he heard muffled voices, sharp, clean. Foreign. Confusion washed over him but too soon had the door swung open to reveal and very, very disheveled looking Hungarian woman.

Mathias had nearly fallen into Elizaveta as she pulled the door out from his ear. She regarded him with surprised yet exhausted green eyes. Or were they green? He wasn’t sure, but he knew that they looked dull, almost more grey than green at this point. This only added to her looking more like a disaster. Her baby pink silk robe was stained with cigarette ashes and what looked like tiny smears of brown blood on her waist. Or it could’ve been chocolate, although he wasn’t too keen on finding out. Bags adorned her crystally gaze.

“You got a haircut,” she observed, her voice strained. He sounded husky like she was sick or had smoked one too many cigarettes before lunch.

Mathias was taken aback at first but nodded slowly. “Yeah, Lukas did—” Behind Elizaveta in the kitchen area, there was loud talking in a language that Mathias felt he could understand, although it was warped.

Elizaveta brushed a knotted piece of hair from her sallow face and gestured him inside. “Welcome to the party,” she said. Before he could say anything, she grabbed him by the shirt, pulling him inside rather aggressively.

Inside, two similar looking boys with light wispy hair and fair skin were looking at each other with infuriated expressions. On one side of the table, clenching his fists and holding his breath was Emil. His face was positively red, due to anger perhaps, but the fast rise and fall of his chest indicated that it was due to yelling. Seams of his sweater that he had pulled off out of frustration were littered on top of his chipped black shoes and strewn on the kitchen table. He was tugging a piece off now, usually soft eyes wide with shock and rage.

And on the other side of the table was Lukas, a person so familiar that Mathias was shocked when he took more than two seconds to render who exactly this person was. Lukas was leaning against a kitchen chair, one arm his support and the other pointing a finger at his younger brother accusatively. His face was not red, but rather white looking. A purple tint was present on his skin and a vein on his pink splotchy neck popped out furiously. He was in the middle of yelling something that sounded so harsh, even for gentle Norwegian that he normally spoke in a soft whisper. His eyebrows were pinched together and he took a hand through his hair.

Elizaveta approached the two as though this was nothing more than a casual Sunday brunch rather than a fight between two brothers. “Well, boys, Mathias came to join the fun, so why don’t you make some room for him. Bring a chair over. Argue to your heart's content.” She turned and glared at Mathias like his existence was a curse itself. “Not like it’s my _fucking_ house or anything.”

With that, Lukas had quieted, and Elizaveta left all three boys standing in a triangle sort of shape. Mathias’ eyes were stuck on Lukas, catching on every detail of him. From his messy bedhead and muted pink love bites to the fearful look that he presented Mathias with; he inhaled it all, toxins too. Why did Lukas look at him with so much apprehension and panic in those glossy blue eyes of his? _Talk to me_ , Mathias wanted to say. His lip quivered. _Touch me and show me that everything is alright._

Emil scoffed loudly, tearing the two apart instantly. He regarded them with sickened expressions and spat something in Norwegian. 

Mathias gripped his side. “I-I don’t know what you’re saying,” he said in a small voice. How strange it was that a fifteen-year-old boy was scaring him so badly.

“I said I can’t believe I’m surrounded by _fags_ like you two, you stupid fucking Dane,” Emil said. Mathias watched his eyes; they were watering, threatening to spill over with tears. His voice sounded guttural. “My own brother being fucked by _you_.”

Mathias felt his heart drop into his stomach, causing him to blanch and force back bile. He looked at Emil, blue eyes light and unwavering. He felt his lip shake, may be itching to respond to Emil with words that Mathias didn’t know. Lukas spoke up before he did, though, shooting something back in Norwegian. Mathias caught words here and there — “like to,” “because of,” “selfish.” Or was it childish? Or was it prick? His ears were ringing, he didn’t know.

Something was causing his arm to ache, and he turned to look at Lukas. “Lukas, _Christ_ , in a language that I know!” His chest felt heavy, like the marks on it were burning through his skin. 

Lukas looked at him with harsh eyes before turning back to Emil. “You’re being absurd Emil, acting like you’re above me or something.”

Emil’s nostrils flared. “You’d know shit about that seeing as Mathias is always on top.” A string from his sweater fell from his hand. Mathias looked at Emil, eyebrows still pinched together.

“Oh, but you’re just so jealous aren’t you Emil. Fucking admitting it to Eliza and everything,” Lukas said, leaning into the chair deeper. “You told her you wanted more time with him.”

“Because you slutted your way into a friendship with him, whereas I just wanted a person to be friends with, to call an older brother! Is that so terrible? That I wanted someone to be there for me when you weren’t?!” Emil spat, his English sounding more and more choppy with every sentence he said. 

Mathias’ head was spinning. Emil saw me as… an older brother? He already has one—Lukas works so hard for him.

But is Lukas ever there for him?

As though drawing inspiration from Mathias’ thoughts. Lukas shot back: “An older brother who can spend time with you, I understand, but if you can’t remember, I _provide_ for you! I work so you can have all the music and ingredients and dreams of leaving that you want! You’re not the only one who wants to leave for greener pastures, Emil!”

“I DON’T CARE ABOUT OUR FUCKING MONEY,” Emil shouted, voice catching halfway. He exhaled deeply. “Money doesn’t do shit!”

 

“You should hear how fucking ridiculous you sound, insulting the person who keeps you alive, you absolute spoiled brat,” Lukas snapped, seemingly more composed and controlling. Lukas’ eyes were no longer shocked, yet narrow and sure of his approach. Meanwhile. Emil was gripping anything within his reach, pulling and pulling at hair and strings like a madman. Mathias might as well been watching two strangers. Gone was the angelic boy who danced around to Glenn Miller. Forgotten was the boy who kissed Mathias until all of the hurt had gone away.

Emil exhaled shakily. “You left me, Lukas,” he said in a shaky, verge of tears tone. “And for what?! Because you wanted to be coddled after months of hard work?! Because you miss our parents? Did your older brother ditch you for some idiot from a train station? Is your life so fucking difficult with the constant validation you get from this moron?” At last, tears spilled over his cheeks. “Have you ever felt so alone that every other emotion hurts?!”

 

There was silence, deep and uncomfortable, heavy breathing mixed with tangible fear. There was a silence, but it was quickly assuaged by a soft voice whispering, “Emil.” Mathias wasn’t sure at first whose it was, but when the crying boy with aurora-resembling eyes looked over at him, he knew that he had spoken.

But in that face, he saw someone familiar that simply wasn’t Emil. Heartbreak and his mother.

Because that was the face he remembered seeing before she died, before he collapsed. His legs felt like jelly, and he smelt roses coming from an unknown source. Emil’s eyes were overflowing with pain, trickling down his cheeks and causing his breath to become shaky.

“I’m glad you h-have each other,” he said through tears, wiping them away viciously, “but somewhere along the line, you f-forgot me. And I can’t stand feeling this unwanted anymore.”

“Emil, you’re not unwanted,” Lukas said in a tone that was too calm and logical for this. Mathias shot him a look, although Lukas didn’t turn to face him. Emil, surprisingly, just laughed, a broken sounding thing, and strode out of the room, his shoulder colliding with Mathias’ arm before he left. 

There were thumps of stairs being stepped on, indicating that Emil had gone to Elizaveta’s office. Mathias faced Lukas, alone in this unfamiliar house.

“I’m sorry that happened,” Lukas said, voice deadpan and annoyed sounding.

Mathias felt frustration compressing his bones. “Lukas, that was out of hand,” he stated. He met eyes with Lukas, who seemed surprised by Mathias’s words.

“What do you mean? Do you agree with him?” Lukas asked, sounding slightly offended. “Mathias, he’s being completely irrational.”

“His feelings are not irrational, Lukas. He feels abandoned, and maybe it is because of me, but I have a feeling that it’s because of the way that you two are coping with your parents being... missing,” Mathias replied, only processing his statement after it had been said. He wondered if he was grasping at straws.

Lukas scoffed. “ _Coping_? The fuck does that mean? I’m keeping us from _starving_ , Mathias. I’m keeping _you_ from starving.”

Mathias nodded, a piece of hair brushing his forehead. “Sure, but Lukas, he loves you, and you’re ignoring him and making him feel unloved. Providing for him doesn’t mean he loves you automatically. You have to at least try to see where he’s coming from.”

“I am not the bad guy here, Mathias,” Lukas snapped suddenly, eyes sharp and unwavering. “Not everything is just black and white.”

Mathias sighed, a small unsure smile shaping his lips into a curve. “Then you don’t have to act it is,” he said quietly. “Please, talk to Emil. he needs you more than you know.”

Lukas was pinching himself again like he had the night before. Had it been a night since they were living out their dreams on a cold beach, shivering as they kissed? His touch felt a thousand lightyears away and yet so close. So Mathias held out a hand, which Lukas looked at with a blank expression. And after a moment of hesitation and consideration, he slipped his fingers through Mathias’. A bird chirped in the distance. Mathias wondered if he felt the same cold pit in his stomach as he did.

… 

**April 5th, 1940 — Paris, France**

She woke up to the sound of birds outside her window. 

The room was dark. Everything was dark except for the slivers of light that threatened to peak through the curtains. She wondered what time it is, but decided that it didn’t matter. She was jet-lagged anyways—in New York it was still 2 A.M.

She rolled over, bangs falling in her face.

… 

She was awakened by the rattling of keys in her door. 

Groggily, she opened her light green eyes and through the blur of sleep, she could see a familiar looking man with golden blond hair walking through the doorway. 

For a moment, she thought it was Mathias.

Then she realized that it was Arthur. 

“Emma,” he said in a tired, exasperated tone. She smiled softly, but a lingering bit of nostalgia was still lodged in her chest. Arthur always did look like Mathias after a few drinks. He walked over to the bed, reaching for the covers and ready to throw them off of her, but she gripped onto them tightly.

“Arthur! I’m not decent!” she protested. 

“Oh, Jesus Christ, Emma! When will you sleep with a shirt on?” he asked in an annoyed voice. “It’s bloody freezing!”

“Ventilation and comfort” she explained. Emma sat up, sheets still covering her chest but exposing her shoulders. She knew he wouldn’t look—in fact, he stood at the end of her bed, head turned blatantly towards the window and hands on his hips. He looked pale. “I feel like I’m suffocating if I sleep with a shirt.”

“Well please try to think of me next time,” he said, sighing, still keeping his eyes trained on the window. “Speaking of which, it’s two in the afternoon. You need to get up or Francis will throw a fit. You still have work to be done.”

She rolled onto her back, reaching to grab papers on the nightstand. “All translated to French. I did it last night. The tea you gave me really kept me caffeinated—could you bring some more over, darling?”

Arthur snatched it from her hand, mumbling something under his breath. He looked over it, each page, front and back, and smacked the papers against his leg. “Alright. Well done. Francis will be less pissed—but you still have to hurry up. We’re to meet for dinner at a small… meeting space.” Arthur never had a way with words, especially in French. But in English, he spoke much more comfortably.

She put a cigarette in her mouth and flicked a lighter on. “How kind of you to invite me on your date,” Emma teased, adoring smirk on her cheeks. 

His face flared red. “Emma—how _inappropriate_ —“

“Oh, Artie, you know I’m teasing,” she lied, sitting up, though the covers still hid her. Emma saw how they looked at each other. Their faces were those of pure love, enough so that they could bicker with each other mercilessly. From fashion style arguments to cooking feuds, they had covered it all three times over. 

It was like watching her and Mathias interact. 

She smiled bittersweetly into her cigarette and wondered what the weather was like in Belgium. 

“Just get some damn clothes on and meet me in your kitchen,” he said, sounding exhausted. He ran a hand through his hair and walked out the door, shutting the door with a gentle thud.

Emma jumped to her feet, the cold air of the room touching her skin and leaving goosebumps. She jumped over to her radio, turning the knob while taking a drag. A French song with piano and girl singing in a sweet voice came on. She let the smoke escape from her mouth as she swayed over to her dresser drawer, taking out a bright red dress with a white collar and white lining. Arthur claimed it was cold outside, but Emma had never felt warmer. Emma pulled the dress over her head, popping her arms through the sleeves and then smoothing it out over her body. Her vanity glowed golden like sunshine; she spun over to it, brushing through her curls and pinning her bangs to the side of her head. The lipstick at her right eyed her needily, and she gave into it, swiping a thin sheen over her bottom lip. 

In America, she had learned that not all of the women wore bright lipstick all the time. She had stepped off of her plane looking as glamorous as ever, being side-eyed by many more casually dressed women. She learned what the word “slut” meant the hard way and how Americans viewed many Europeans. Apparently, they felt as though they were always being dragged into “petty” conflicts they had no business in. She had sighed and agreed too many times to count, but every time she was reminded of “petty” conflicts, she was reminded of home. She missed Belgium immensely. After New York, Emma learned to tone down the makeup and her own alluring fashion taste. She supposed not everyone could live life as beautifully as Scarlett O’Hara*.

 _But when in Paris_ Emma thought, swiping another coat of the burgundy color over her lips. She examined herself, pulling her skin tighter over creased eyelids. Her green eyes had specks of hazel dotted like stars near her black pupil. A smile crept over her smile. _I love looking pretty_ , she thought smugly as she stood from her vanity. She grabbed her white gloves, a navy trenchcoat, and her signature red-ribboned sun hat. 

Just as she finished adjusting her hat, a knock resounded through her room. “Emma, hurry it up! Francis will be waiting,” a muffled, annoyed sounding Arthur said from behind her door. Emma rolled her eyes and walked over, throwing up the door and leaning into the frame. She kicked her leg up and put a hand behind her head.

“How do I look, Artie?” she asked jokingly. 

He rolled his eyes and reached out, taking the cigarette from her lips. The end was stained with red lipstick. “Like Veronica Lake’s less attractive younger sister. Now, c’mon.” Arthur exhaled, smoke filling the space between them, and turned on his heel. His pace was rushed.

She lips parted, making an O, and she huffed. “ _Well_ , someone is in a sour mood,” Emma retorted. She hurried after him, heels clicking.

… 

By the time they reached the restaurant, Emma had bought a bouquet of flowers and four yards of new fabric which she swore she’d go to a seamstress for. 

Emma knew Arthur was getting annoyed, especially since he was in such a rush to be with Francis, but she couldn’t help but not explore what life in Paris was like. She had been living in a rural mansion outside of Brussels for all her life; she’d never thought she’d have the opportunity to work in such an internationally adored place. So Emma decided that Francis could wait for just a little bit longer while she lived in the moment and splurged on all of the beautiful things she saw.

They walked slowly down a narrow street, houses with iron bar balconies intertwined with red and pink roses looking down on them. Arthur’s arms swung at his side, trying to propel him faster down the cobblestone road. Meanwhile, Emma lazily trickled along, holding her hat back as a warm breeze coursed through her hair. The roses swung at her side and the pale pink fabric was in a small basket hanging off of her forearm. The sun was bright, so bright that she saw a few women shaking out clothes and hanging them out to dry in the warm heat. Curiosity and awe overcame her, and she was left with her heart beating slowly. Even a mansion in the countryside was never as peaceful as such a soft city like this.

She was shaken from her reverie when Arthur called her name. “Emma!” he shouted. Her eyes adjusted themselves and flicked to where he was standing. He was several yards ahead of her. “Get out of your head! We’re almost there!”

“Coming,” Emma huffed, jogging along the street. Her shoes clicked on the road and Arthur stood, hands on his hips, waiting for her to catch up.

When she reached him, they started to walk again, this time at his fast pace. “Have you really never been to Paris?” he asked in a disbelieving tone.

She shook her head, struggling to keep up with him. He was much faster than her. In fact, she’d never had to hurry this quickly anywhere. “No. I haven’t been on any trips since I was little,” Emma explained. They turned a corner, only to be greeted by a wooden sign that swung in the warm breeze. _Le Monastère_ , it read. _The monastery?_ she wondered silently.

As they approached the cafè, Emma’s eyes wandered over the different designs etched into the wooden sign and the window. Roses were carved into the glass. Arthur opened the door for her, gesturing for her to enter through, in the way so many gentlemen had done to her before. However, this time she wasn’t entering a bar, dance floor, or empty dressing room. “After you, love,” he said, a small grin on his pale lips. She stepped one foot through the door frame and immediately felt Arthur’s arms on her shoulders. Emma almost gasped, but he leaned down the way an older brother might when attempting to scare his sister, and whispered, “And welcome to Paris.”

… 

In the back of the cafe, there was a small door in between the two bathrooms. Though a common person might just assume the door to be a closet or lead into a cellar area. In fact, Emma was surprised when Arthur had swung the door open, stepping into a small dark room. On the other side of the wall, Emma could hear muffled voices, bantering in rich French. Hearty laughs drifted into the air. Her eyebrows came together in confusion and she looked at Arthur.

“What on earth are you doing?” she questioned the Brit, who was running his fingers along the walls of the confined space. There was a slightly pained look on his face, perhaps a mix of frustration and anxiousness. They were about twenty minutes late to the meeting with Francis. But Emma remained unbothered for the most part. She was observing.

Arthur huffed, rolling up the sleeves of this sweater and sighing. “Come on,” he mumbled. “Trying to find the damn key. Francis moves it every week.” Arthur groaned in annoyance and continued to drag his hands over the walls as Emma watched hesitantly. 

“Why does he do that?” she asked curiously. 

“He’s paranoid,” Arthur replied. There was a small _clink_ and his eyes widened in recognition. There were a click and a squeak of hinges. Arthur straightened up and gestured for Emma to come inside the small room. She raised an eyebrow at him. “Arthur, I am not getting in there,” she said in a voice that carried more fear than she wanted it to.

“Emma, come on, I got the door open. Let’s just go,” he beckoned, sounding slightly annoyed. He held a hand out to her, and only then did she see that sliver of light peeking from the other side of the “closet.” Her eyes narrowed and she turned to Arthur. 

“There’s a room on the other side, isn’t there?” she stated, less of a question and more of a hope that they weren’t just stepping into a dark closet for no reason. 

Arthur huffed. “Obviously. Now go ahead inside,” he urged, nudging her forward with the hand rested on her back.

Emma took one more skeptical glance at Arthur before pushing past the thick coats that smelled of mothballs and using her hand to guide her forward. Two steps in, she found a door, the light from the other side painting the edges white. She grabbed a cold metal doorknob and opened the door, expecting to walk into a formal meeting of sorts. 

But instead, this looked like any old rowdy pub she might’ve found in England. She had been to a few when she stayed with Arthur for those three days before they departed for France. 

The walls were barren, clean painted white like the walls of the main entrance in the cafe. There were no windows or other doors in the room, but the small chandeliers that hung over the small wooden tables provided enough light. This room was actually much bigger and much more packed than the actual cafe itself. In fact, there was enough space in the room that it could accommodate a bar, where men and women sat together enjoying a drink and laughing loudly over the music that was drifting around. The other tables were home mostly to men who had their hands on the table as though they were deep in discussion. Every so often, their stern look would crack and they would laugh robustly at something their partner said. Emma wondered how any of these men got work done. A few people pushed past her towards the exit, all warm with alcohol in their blood. She stumbled out of the way and against one of the corners of the wall. She looked around for Arthur, but he had already taken her by the arm and was pulling her through the crow of people that crowded the bar to their left. She looked over the shoulders of the people to catch the bartender mixing a drink, sliding it down to her, and then winking at her. Emma was pulled along. 

Smoke made the dim light look hazy like Emma was dreaming. She reached out and touched the people’s backs as she passed, making sure that she was, in fact, not dreaming. But when they didn’t turn at her touch, she was sure that this was just a dream. Arthur continued lugging her through.

Eventually, they reached the very back of the room, where there was another door. Although the sign on the door said, “ _Frapper avant d'entrer_ ,” Arthur didn’t hesitate before he swung the door wide open and pulled Emma inside. This room was smaller than the pub area but big enough that there was a large table inside of it. It resembled a dining room with its big wooden table. At the head sat Francis, smoking, his light blond hair tied back into a loose bun at the nape of his neck. A few stray strands brushed his face and he turned to look at who had entered the room. At first, his face was hard and questioning, but as soon as his light eyes caught Arthur and Emma, his expression softened and he smiled gently. 

“ _Très bien_ ,” he said in a soft voice. Emma was always surprised by how sweet and smooth his French was, even over the telephone. She supposed that actually living in France did that to you, rather than learning French in a school. But even then, there were sometimes when the way he delivered words so elegantly just swept Emma off of her feet. And his pictures did him no justice. He amazed her, truly. A beautiful man with a beautiful voice and a beautiful life. 

Also, a beautiful boyfriend. She offered him a friendly smile.

Francis looked at the three other men in the room, who all had their eyes trained on him intently. They seemed about the same age as Emma, if not older. Although Francis couldn’t have been older than 25, he had an aura of authority and security around him that only some adults could manage. A parental figure or big brother was the only way that Emma could describe it. 

“I think that we should continue this conversation another time. I have another meeting,” Francis told them in French. 

“When should we come back? You know we have to work,” the man on the far end said, his face taut with distress. He looked to be the oldest, Emma thought, and not too bad looking either. His clothes showed that he wasn’t of any upper-class jobs; perhaps a baker or something. Emma looked back to Francis for a response.

“Yes, yes, I know. Even if one of you came back and told the others what we plan on doing… I think this will end well,” Francis reasoned. “But for now, trust me, bear with me, I will work for you, not against you.” His eyes were sincere, something Francis had learned to do a while ago. Emma looked from Francis to the other men and then back again.

Surrendering, the man nodded and stood up. He waved goodbye to Francis, saying some words about meeting next week at an earlier time. Then, once the door shut, Francis turned to them. There was a tired yet happy smile on his face. 

“I wish you had gotten here earlier,” he teased, stepping towards Arthur and pulling the reluctant Brit into a smothering hug. “Because I was just sitting here all alone, waiting for you two, with these three knuckleheads who have been bothering me all week requesting a meeting. On _my_ time, of course.” He rested his chin on top of Arthur’s head, forcing him to hunch over so that Arthur seemed smaller than Francis. The two men were the same size, even when Francis wore his hair in that ridiculous high-bun he did when they compared heights. 

Emma smiled, ignoring Arthur’s groans due to Francis’ slight coddling. “It’s good to be here,” Emma replied, nodding. “It's a pleasure to finally meet you face-to-face instead of having to guess what you look like over the telephone.” 

Francis released Arthur and stepped to Emma, extending a hand. She took it expecting a handshake but being caught off guard when he kissed her knuckles. Her smile faltered slightly, but she didn’t let that throw her off. “Oh, come now my dear. The pleasure is all mine,” he said, smiling gently before releasing her hand. He gestured to the table, showing them where to sit. Francis took a seat back at the head of the table with Arthur on his right. Emma opted for a seat right across from Arthur, who was sorting out papers on the table, his brow furrowed. 

“Well, as you might know, I’ve never been to Paris before. So naturally, I’m having the time of my life here,” she said, her smile glowing. She took the hat off of her head and placed it in the chair next to her. Her coat found itself unbuttoned but not discarded; there was a chill clinging onto her skin. 

Francis nodded. “I see. This meeting, actually, is about you doing a little more traveling,” he cooed gently. “That is if you were up for it.”

“Pace,” muttered Arthur, scribbling something down in slanted English. Emma glanced over at him but, didn’t say anything. 

She looked back to Francis. “But that can wait. Really, what I want to do right now is check in on you. This is obviously a big… career shift.” Career sounded like a fake word when he said it. 

Emma nodded, agreeing. “My second job ever and I’m becoming involved in government affairs.”

From his pocket, Francis produced a pack of cigarettes. He took two, handing one to Emma who took it with a quiet _merci_. “Government, yes,” Francis said placing the cigarette in between his lips. He stuck a match and lit both his and Emma’s. He let the fire linger, eyeing it cautiously. “But so microscopically small that only the local people are aware of our presence.” 

Emma felt slightly apprehensive.

Nevertheless, she started on her cigarette and continued. “Very well. But government nonetheless. Now, I saw in one of your letters that you mentioned a sort of training?”

Francis perked up in his seat. “Yes, I actually did want to touch on that. We wanted to know a little bit more about what you’re doing, who we’re dealing with, and perhaps take another language course just so that you are as… how do I say this? _Useful_ as possible. Bless your country for being trilingual, but for you specifically, we think four would be appropriate.”

“I know some Danish,” she blurted out, sounding unraveled. She quickly composed herself and smoothed out her dress while doing so. “I can read English as well. Really, any language I think I would be able to pick up quite quickly. As long as I’ve been given enough time to study it.”

Arthur looked at her, something funny in his eyes, but he quickly went back to his work. He seemed to have finished sorting out all of the papers. 

“One of our girls in Norway would’ve been such a great teacher to you. She’s been working with me for a little under a year now,” Francis took the cigarette from his mouth and waved his hands, causing smoke to dance around his fingers like rings. “But I’ve never met someone so stubborn. She very aggressively refused.”

Emma swallowed. “Goodness,” she whispered. “Norway is quite far, though.”

“Cold, too. I don’t know, maybe she’s used to the cold. She’s Hungarian, I think it gets cold there during the winters. But her personality is very frigid as well,” Francis said.

“I’m sure she has some redeemable qualities,” Emma insisted, holding her cigarette the way that she saw rich women in America doing so. They had it by their jaw, tilted away from their face so that they could easily bring it around to their lips if they wanted to. 

Francis sighed, shaking his head ever-so-slightly. “She’s damaged; like a scared, stray dog. Tough as nails, but so guarded.” He looked down at his lap, and then up to Emma. “You understand what I mean right?”

Emma hesitated before nodding. She knew the type but had never truly met someone like that. Or had she? Emma was never any good at reading people.

“But, I wanted her to train you because she is best suited to,” Francis said. He looked at Arthur and whispered something in English to him, to which Arthur responded by handing him a thin looking folder. In Arthur’s smooth, oblong handwriting, “Emma Marigold” was written. 

Emma Marigold. She had told them that that was her last name. In America, that’s what she went by. _It has a ring to it_ , one of her many so-called suitors had told her as he played with her messy blond hair while they lay in her bed backstage. _Sounds very American._

So, Marigold, it was.

“Emma Marigold,” Francis read, his soft, mystic blue eyes slowly reading it over again and again. “How sweet.”

“Thank you,” she said quietly.

Francis opened up the folder and read through, skimming each page until he was ready to speak. Emma’s insides felt like jelly and there was sweat forming in her palms. Nervousness―the kind you get before a performance. He pulled a paper out and laid in front of her.

A map. She scanned the outlined boundaries, realizing that this was a map of Germany. Her eyes wandered to Belgium, so small and cramped looking when compared to Germany and it’s fiery red borders. She glanced up at Francis, whose face was devoid of emotion. 

Finally, he spoke up: “Ever been to Germany?” he asked.

She shook her head. Her wide green eyes were stuck on Belgium. 

“We have a special mission that requires time in Germany… would you like to spend some time there?”

A piece of blond hair fell in her face, and the answer that was stuck in her chest refused to exit her lips. Instead, she looked up, faking intrigue. “What would I be doing?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello, hello, hello. ignore any grammatical/spelling errors b/c as usual, this chapter is fresh outta of the writing oven!! 
> 
> good news: more chapters coming soon!!!
> 
> bad news: i recently got a concussion and ~lucky me~, it's visual. i have limited computer time and reading/writing time.
> 
> i'm working on getting better; for now, recovery is my main focus. again, more chapters coming, just bear with me :-)
> 
> thanks so much for reading. reviews and comments cost $0 and really help me tot keep going <3 happy almost valentine's day, loves!  
> see you in the next one,  
> tate
> 
> NOTES:
> 
> 1) *Scarlett O’Hara, played by Vivien Leigh, is the main character of the classic movie and book _Gone With the Wind_ (1939) by Margaret Mitchell. Though the movie takes place in the 1860s and years of the Civil War, Scarlett is known for her beautiful dresses and her “oh fiddly-dee, I’ll do that tomorrow” bratty attitude in the first quarter of the movie. 
> 
> 2) Just so everyone knows, I’m bi. I do not condone the use of these slurs at all and, as previously stated, I want to make my story as realistic as possible. Homosexuality in the 1940s, as you might already know, was very much looked down upon and made life hard for those people who were LGBT. Because of this sad reality, I added some harsher language in this chapter so as not to lose the sense of what the 1940s were like in Europe.  
> It was horrible and so heartbreaking the way that LGBT people were treated, and I include this because this story is literally about DenNor, a gay relationship. If you want to talk about his more or have any questions, feel free to ask as I am open to discussion and critique on my writing :)


	14. The Calm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **The fishermen know that the sea is dangerous and the storm terrible, but they have never found these dangers sufficient reason for remaining ashore.**   
>  **—Vincent Van Gogh**

**April 4th, 1940 — Kristiansand, Norway**   
**123 Hours Before**

Lukas paced. He felt as though he was worse than Ursula. 

The house was too quiet without the records spinning their lazy morning songs. Emil had told Mathias that was going to stay at Elizaveta’s for the night, and although Elizaveta complained, Lukas knew that she didn’t actually care. As long as Emil stayed away from her cigarettes, he was just fine without Emil around him.

His skin felt hot. Not the kind of heat that permeated through his body when he was kissing Mathias. No, this was different. He was much more familiar with this feeling: it was the feeling of dread.

He felt guilty about Emil. No matter how hard he tried to repress the feeling, it slithered it’s way back into the base of his ribs, settling there like a deadly snake. Lukas clenched his hands, trying to make them into a fist; he was tired and they fell apart.

Lukas knew that Emil was right. He didn’t mean to neglect Emil or forget to check in with the boy, but he knew that given the opportunity, he would choose Mathias over Emil. He had to accept that and move on. But why was Mathias so magnetic? Why did Mathias outweigh Emil each time, even if brothers were supposed to come before lovers?

Mathias made Lukas feel like he wasn’t Lukas. 

A big brother who stressed over everything, someone who worked in the different bait shops for hours before coming home, a tense, cold and reserved boy that was often caught staring into the distance was often how people characterized Lukas. He was nothing more than cold and quiet. And even Emil fed into that acceptable characterization of Lukas.

But Mathias just made Lukas feel human and capable of all feelings. Mathias made Lukas feel capable of anything. 

How stupid, he thought. For everything that attraction was talked up to be, this was surprisingly underwhelming; especially since this just felt like something he should’ve had his entire life. 

Perhaps attraction was the missing pieces in people’s dull lives, and that’s why everyone was so in love with the idea of chasing after love.

He sighed to himself, setting out Ursula’s food (aka, dinner leftovers), and walking into the piano room. He sat down, overwhelmed by the dust and the amount of sheet music laying around him. Lukas remembered sitting by, watching as his mother tried to teach Emil how to play the piano. Emil was so stubborn, even back then, and kept hitting the keys in defiance. As a result, Emil never learned how to play anything besides “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star.” Even still, Emil had trouble remembering how to play that.

But Lukas was always more obedient. He had sat by and let his mother teach him how to play the violin. Although it was boring, and at times he yearned to be outside exploring with Emil, he knew that their lessons made his mother happy. 

Lukas propped his head up with his hand. Did Mathias ever do something like that for his own mother?

Lukas had one image of their relationship: watching her die and Mathias’ eyes fluttering before falling shut.

It was messy, that’s for sure, but Lukas remembered feeling a dread deep in his bones that warned him of two things: Mathias might’ve just died in his arms, and Lukas’ own mother might very well be dead too.

He shuddered before standing up abruptly. The memory flooded every part of his mind, and he rushed to the sink quickly before vomiting. Tears pricked his eyes and he swore that he could smell roses inside the piano room. 

…

**April 6th, 1940 — Kristiansand, Norway**   
**64 Hours Before**

Mathias decided that after two days of leaving Emil alone with Elizaveta, it was time to try and bring him home. 

Playing house with Lukas was fun for the most part. Making meals, washing dishes, trying to figure out how the radio worked before giving up and settling for old books was peaceful aside from the underlying dread that was crawling underneath his skin. Every time he talked to Lukas or tried to ease his way into the subject, Lukas just brushed it off, leaving Mathias in the dark. 

It bothered him. Lukas acting like he didn’t care that his only brother was literally out of the house because of a petty argument where neither of them wanted to admit their wrongness. He saw the crack in Lukas’ eyes whenever Emil was mentioned, and it almost made Mathias regret bringing up the Icelandic boy.

Almost.

Because what Mathias wanted to tell Lukas was he was lucky to have a brother. He was so damn lucky that he had that kind of bond in his life because it was something that Mathias would never experience. 

But it was this very thought that made Mathias question himself even more, because the more time he spent with Lukas, the more he wondered if he saw Lukas in the romantic way that his heart was telling him he did. It made sense for him to chase after that brotherly bond he so wanted but was it still brotherly with Lukas involved? He wanted that connection of two brothers, but he felt as though he was forcing that onto Lukas. It made him wonder at least once a day, “am I homosexual?” 

Most of the time, he was able to reinforce that yes, he was homosexual. Though girls were beautiful, he felt that he could only enjoy them aesthetically. They were like alluring paintings in a museum—but you don’t kiss paintings or fall in love with paintings the way you would another person. He also took into account the fact that he had been best friends with Emma, the most dazzling girl in all of Belgium, for his entire life; not once had he felt the urge to fall in love with her. 

And still, he questioned himself. He and Lukas hadn’t made any physical contact with each other since the beach. It felt like they were too reserved to be able to comfortably interact. This whole fight was eating away at them, and the fact that they had different views on the fight made it even harder for them to imagine kissing the other.

Mathias missed him most when he was looking down at his peaceful sleeping figure.

It was early morning and Mathias decided that two days was long enough for this fight to be going on. He had dressed warmly but left his coat hanging up so as not to worry Lukas. Lukas was still sleeping, limbs sprawled out under the blue duvet. His face was serene in sleep and Mathias imagined that there was no stress weighing his pale skin down. His blond hair was disheveled, beckoning for Mathias to fix it, but he knew better. He had to go before Lukas woke up. 

Silently, Mathias took to the stairs, careful to step slowly. He wandered to the front door, pulling it open without hesitation and shutting it quietly behind him.

This time, he did know the way to Elizaveta’s. It wasn’t as hard as he had made it out to be, and with his odd fidgeting coming back, he was finding it easier to become extremely, almost scarily focused on the task at hand. However, sometimes the exact opposite happened and he could do nothing else except daydream. 

Now, however, he was fixated on getting to Elizaveta’s house. Not even Lukas penetrated his thoughts.

Through the sunny blur of early spring and the glare of dewy stones and sea, he kept his eyes ahead. Get to Elizaveta’s, get Emil, and go home.

And he found it funny that he was calling their house “home.” 

The house sat on the corner where two roads met and there was an unoccupied flower stand across the street. A group of kids was playing catch with a ball, trying not to fall on the slippery stones. Though Mathias didn’t understand most of their conversation, their laughing was enough to tell him that they were having a good time. Coming up to the red door, he didn’t hesitate, didn’t even knock. He opened it up and walked inside, letting himself into the kitchen area.

Elizaveta was sitting at the table, writing something down on a piece of paper. A cup of coffee was next to her, steaming and filled to the brim. It was unusual to see her without a cigarette in hand. Her hair was curled and her face no longer smudged with dark makeup. She wore and green collared dress, something that reminded Mathias of summer and peace. Elizaveta looked up at him as he walked through the door, her expression unreadable. However, Mathias could feel the annoyance coming off of her in waves as she took in his appearance.

“Not even knocking now, are we?” she asked, taking the coffee cup into her hand and swinging her legs around to face him properly. Mathias noticed how well she held herself; her posture was near perfect as if daring him to put a book on top of her head just to see if it would stay flat. 

“I’m just here to get Emil,” Mathias said defensively, very much not in the mood for her sass and scolding. She eyed him, green eyes hard and cold causing him to look down. 

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of Elizaveta slowly burning him away with her stare, she sighed and gestured towards the stairs that led to her office area. “He’s upstairs. Don’t make me regret telling you; I’ve just had enough of you three pulling me into your drama.”

At this Mathias returned her cold gaze and snapped back, “You know, I was going to thank you for helping us and trying to be a mediator in all of this. But you’re just selfish. I don’t even understand why you tolerate us, to begin with, because you’ve said more than once that you gain nothing from doing this.”

Elizaveta cocked her head to the side, curls falling over her shoulder. “I help you because I wanted to. Not because I needed to. Not because it’s apart of my job. My job is not helping you three. So instead of criticizing me, maybe you need to thank me and then get the hell out of my house.” Her eyes were fiery, full of fury that was directed towards Mathias. The peaceful morning sunlight shining against her back made her glow as though it was impersonating her anger. After a moment, she turned back to her paper, swinging her legs around and tucking them under the table. And suddenly, she was back to writing, as though Mathias wasn’t even there.

Mathias groaned quietly and walked to the stairs, taking each one robotically. Eventually, he came upon the office he remembered visiting only a few weeks earlier. It wasn’t as dark as he remembered, though. When she had sat on her desk. Smoking with him, the room had been in disarray, with cigarette smoke lingering at the ceiling and her desk cluttered by papers and down-turned picture frames. Now, however, the room was cleaned. No papers on the desk, no cigarette ashes to be seen, and the pictures were now visible.

Curious, Mathias walked over the to the desk. There were two picture frames: the bigger one, looking fairly new, was a picture of a younger Elizaveta and two unfamiliar men. She wore a pale colored dress, although it showed up as a light gray in the photo. Her hair was pulled back tight to reveal her tight, slowly skin and prominent cheekbones and her eyes were decorated with dark smokey makeup. She smiled, arms around the men, leaning into them as though they were holding her upright. The man on the left was the tallest out of all of them. His hair was a light gray, making Mathias wonder how blond he must’ve been to have his hair show up like that. He wore a dark gray uniform, adorned with a tie and a few pins on his chest. The closer Mathias looked, the more military medals he recognized. In the man’s free hand, he had a cap with an eagle and a skull barely visible on the front. His smile was broad; he held Elizaveta tightly. Mathias exhaled shakily and looked to the other man, who was much less intimidating. He was all dark features, chocolatey blackish-gray hair, dark smiling eyes, and a gentle grin that showed his love for the moment. His glasses reflected some of the flashes, causing them to create a glare. But other than that, the picture was perfect.

The other picture was of Elizaveta and the dark-haired man again, this time sitting at a table inside of what looked like a nightclub. Elizaveta wore a silky halter style dress that came out as a dark gray and revealed more of Elizaveta than Mathias would’ve liked to see. The dark-haired man simply wore a black suit with his hair styled back and his glasses missing. He was looking off to his side, mid-sentence and body facing Elizaveta. Elizaveta, however, was looking directly at the camera, face slack of emotion and eyes wide. She could’ve been posing for a photoshoot without good she looked, but something out the genuine surprise in her grayish eyes led Mathias to believe they had been caught off guard. He looked at the slim glasses of champagne in their hand, trying to think how old she must’ve been in the picture. 

Suddenly, Mathias’s attention was taken away from the pictures and he looked up. Emil was standing in front of him a few feet away, looking at his hunched over figure. Mathias quickly stood upright facing Emil.

Emil’s eyes were big and sad looking, like the eyes of a child. Emil is a child, Mathias reminded himself. He was so young—only fifteen, really. Mathias tried to remember what he was like at fifteen but decided against it or else he’d become distracted. His fingers tapped against his leg wildly.

“Hi Emil,” he choked out.

Emil, smiling sorrowfully, responded: “Hi Mathias.”

Mathias ran a hand through his hair, wishing it was longer; he needed to grip something. “I’m here—well, I’m here to get you and… y'know take you… home. Only if you want. But… I don’t know. I’ve missed you, and it’s only been two days. No one plays music in the house except you, and it feels like something vital is missing.” 

Emil nodded, face softening ever so slightly. “I always thought I’d be better off as an only child, but it’s too quiet here,” he said gently. He looked clean, but he wore the same clothes that he’d been wearing two days prior. He rubbed the side of his face. “I hate to admit it, but being stubborn does nothing for us. I miss Lukas. But I don’t want to see him the way he’s acting now.”

Mathias sighed, nodding, understanding his words. “I understand. That’s why I want you both to compromise. You’re… you’re brothers.”

“I don’t want to call Lukas my brother right now,” Emil mumbled.

Mathias looked at him sideways. “Then what do you want? An apology?”

Emil nodded quickly, rolling up his sweater sleeves. “Yes, actually. An apology and some recognition.”

“Fine,” Mathias said. “That’s what Lukas will do. But your part of this is coming home. Please.”

Emil fidgeted, looking away. At this, Mathias started to become a little annoyed. “What?” he asked. “What else is there?”

Emil shook his head, gripping his small wrist tightly. He kept shaking his head. 

“Emil,” Mathias said in a strong voice. He stopped himself, changing his tone so as not to become angry. “Emil,” he said in a softer voice, “what else is there? I will make sure you get what you want, but please tell me.”

Emil sighed softly, a sharp noise coming from the back of his throat. His eyes were watering. “God, just…” he trailed off, aggressively wiping away his tears. “Lukas is homosexual. What do I make of that? I mean, I don’t care… really I _couldn’t_ care. He’s my brother, I… I love him no matter what. But where does that leave me?”

Mathias, confused, dared to take another step towards the boy. “What do you mean?” Mathias asked gently. His hands were becoming sweaty and worry bubbled in his chest. He was alarmed by Emil’s reaction to this. Could he be upset with Mathias, perhaps claiming he had seduced Lukas into becoming homosexual? How was Mathias supposed to explain that he’d always been more interested in boys than in girls? Really, it took a lot for Mathias to look at a girl. He wondered if Lukas was the same.

Emil sniffled, no longer crying. “I… I know he’s… what he’s thinking. I—I understand. I know, Mathias, I know,” he said, as though he was pleading with the Danish boy to understand his rambling. Emil looked up at him, eyes sparkling. “You understand it too.”

There was silence in the room, all except for their breathing. Mathias looked over at the desk, catching sight of the unfamiliar faces presented in the picture frame. He stared at them for a second before nodding and turning back to Emil. 

“Yeah,” Mathias said. “I understand.”

He looked at Emil, wondering what to do next. What were the odds that they were all attracted to men? Maybe Emil wasn’t sure yet. Maybe Emil was taking after his older brother a little too much. But then again, Mathias had always kn0wn. 

But that wasn’t the pressing question. He cleared his throat and fidgeted. “So,” he started. “Will you come home now?”

Emil huffed, sounding relieved, to say the least. “ _Yes_ , please, but take me home. I can’t stand the cigarettes here.”

Mathias chuckled in agreement. “Yeah. She really does smoke a lot doesn’t she.”

Emil sniffed, the remaining effects of his tears leaving him. “Yeah. One day I counted. Three, sometimes four a day. No wonder she never feels well.” Mathias nodded in agreement and shoved his hands into his pockets, gesturing with his elbows towards the stairs. 

“Let’s get going. It’s still early, maybe we have enough time to wake up Lukas with some Bing Crosby,” he replied, turning to the stairs. Emil laughed in response and pushed ahead of him, beating him to the top of the stairs. Mathias nudged him playfully, pushing him down a step. He was about to follow Emil down, but he looked back at the pictures, wondering why he was so captivated by them. Simply the fact that Elizaveta looked to content and young in those pictures was enough to throw him off. She looked… alive; like she was truly living and not just surviving.

He wondered which one of the men she had mentioned in her mini-breakdown. Mathias felt it safe to assume that the dark-haired man was closer to her and more of a target than the SS officer. He looked at the stiff collar of the SS officer and felt as though he himself were choking.

“Mathias, are you coming?” Emil called. 

Mathias turned and called back down, “Yeah, coming!” He took one last glance at her desk before running down the stairs.

… 

They talked a little on the way back. 

Mathias wasn’t paying attention so he let Emil lead the way. His mind was racing with different thoughts, all mixing together. Elizaveta hadn’t even said goodbye to them as they left. Instead, she simply nodded to Emil and glared deeply at Mathias. They had left without a word, and Emil was left oblivious to the conversation between them.

Mathias’s thoughts, as usual, were mostly consumed by Lukas. He felt a pit in his stomach like he had done something terrible by trying to fix this situation. He knew it was crazy to think, and that he had certainly done the right thing by forcing them to reconcile. But nevertheless, Lukas was unpredictable. He was stone-cold one minute and affectionate and genuinely happy the next.

It made Mathias wonder why Lukas tried so hard to conceal his emotions. Mathias had always worn his heart on his sleeve, and although it might’ve hurt him a few times, he didn’t regret it. 

Curiosity got the best of Mathias and he decided to speak up: “Emil,” he started, “can I ask you a question?”

Emil shrugged, “Sure.”

“Has Lukas always been so…” He struggled to find words. “Has he always been so… reserved?

Emil laughed a little and glanced over his shoulder at Mathias. They passed a few people walking by and took to walking in the empty streets. “Yes,” he replied. “When we were little he was always uncomfortable confronting his emotions. I think it stemmed from… from his father dying and our mother moving on so quickly. I mean, I’ve always viewed him as my full-blooded brother, but I think it freaks him out that he’s the only one in our family who isn’t… related? I think that makes sense.”

“You mean he feels like an outsider because he’s the only one with his father’s blood?” Mathias questioned, kicking a stone to where it skittered a few steps ahead.

Emil nodded. “Yes. I’m half of my mother and father. Then my father is fully himself, my mother is fully herself, and he’s only half of my mother. I think he feels like there’s something missing to him.”

Mathias imagined Lukas sitting alone on the porch, drinking tea and watching the waves. He saw Lukas sitting on his lap, his heartbeat calm and his skin warm—the very essence of peace. He saw Lukas on the beach, smiling wildly only to be tamed by a thousand kisses on his cheeks. Mathias’s breath caught just thinking about him in his moments when his face was filled with love and happiness. “I get that,” he said quietly. “I think everyone is missing a part of themselves. I think that we’re supposed to find it somewhere along the way.”

At this, Emil looked back at him, his expression more serious. “Is that so?” he asked. “What are you missing?”

Mathias shrugged. “I’m not sure yet,” he responded. “But this also takes me to my next question.”

Emil raised an eyebrow, inviting him to ask. 

“Who are those men in those pictures on Elizaveta’s desk. She… she mentioned one of them one time and I figure you know more about her than I do,” Mathias said, careful not to spill too much about her crying and stress over the dark-haired man. He was sure it was the dark-haired man at this point, nothing could convince him otherwise.

Emil shrugged, showing his cluelessness. “Honestly, I have no idea, Mathias. She doesn’t even tell me and Lukas about her past. I mean, she told us that she was a ballerina for the Austrian ballet. She said she went there when she was nineteen, or maybe twenty—I can’t remember. All I know is that she’s about twenty-two or twenty-three. Do the math, you can see why she left.”

Mathias did do the math. 1940 minus 2 or 3… well that was 1937 or 1938.

“Oh,” Mathias said quietly. “Austria was invaded while she was there.”

Emil nodded. “Now, I don’t know that for sure, but it makes sense.” A cold breeze stirred his wispy blond hair out of his face, allowing Mathias to see the sun shining on his thoughtful expression. He often looked like this, eyebrows pinched as though he was concerned, but in reality, he was just thinking. “I think that’s where that SS man comes in too.”

“Makes sense,” Mathias agreed. He pulled his sleeves down, surprised by the sudden chill in the air. He was still thinking in circles about Elizaveta crying on his shoulder, her blotchy skin, and puffy eyes. In his mind, he built a stage where a young, more muscular and healthy-looking Elizaveta danced. Then he built a sunny, warm beach for Lukas so that they could spend the rest of their time together kissing as the sand brushed over their sunburnt skin.

Finally, he made a barn for Emma. He figured that it was enough for the two of them.

…

When the two boys came home, Lukas was up, already starting his daily routine of pacing back and forth.

Mathias watched as Lukas’s dark blue eyes locked with his, then with Emil’s. Suddenly, the anxiety that made them look like shattered glass was gone, and Lukas’s shoulders sagged with relief. He took one more look at Mathias before stepping forwards and embracing Emil with an expressionless face. 

Mathias watched the scene play before him, Emil stopped dead in his tracks by his brother, who looked so much smaller than him at that moment. Emil’s arms slowly came back to life and then they were both locked in an embrace, together. That’s the last thing Mathias saw before he stepped outside into the chilly fresh air. The porch covered the warm sunbeams from hitting his skin, and it must've been about four or five degrees colder where he stood. He thought it best to leave the two alone for now. It wasn’t his place to demand compromise, but rather bring it to them and let them figure out what they’d do. Apparently, it was working for the better.

Besides, it was so nice outside. He didn’t even mind that he was cold. The fisherman was out, a few lingering teenage boys on the dock. They were skipping stones and talking loudly while holding onto the tiny wooden boats that rested in the small harbor. Mathias caught a few of their words: _I’m so bored, we can go home if you want, no let’s stay._ Norwegian wasn’t as foreign as it had sounded a month ago. In fact, he understood more than he didn’t. Maybe someday he’d learn it.

He continued watching the boys walk around, talking aimlessly and throwing things into the water. Everything seemed peaceful, but something lingering in the air left him with a sense of discomfort. There was something coming, maybe from inside of the house, that was going to alter Mathias’s life. He had a sense of these things. He knew early on when Emma was leaving. Hell, he even remembered the feeling of leaving Denmark. His parents had told him that he had cried miserably on the way to Belgium.

His face felt cold. He rubbed the side of his face, his breath catching unexpectedly. Mathias felt tears rising in the back of his throat but pushed them down. It was as though all of his distress and fear was coming up, ready to finally be released in the form of heavy, uncontrollable sobs. _Why am I crying?_ he thought. And then he thought, _Why is my mother dead and father missing?_

Shock, he figured, suppressing his feelings for so long was starting to take its toll. He felt weak so he sat down and buried his face in his hands. The world felt like it was spinning, the only thing keeping him grounded was the hot tears on his face.

But they stopped after a while. He was left sitting on the porch, alone, waiting for something he didn’t know. The boys were now sitting on the dock, laying in the sun and talking in low voices. 

After a while, though, when the sun was high overhead, the door opened and someone stepped out. Mathias glanced behind him and saw a familiar Lukas. He sat next to him, arms crossing and shoulders tense. He seemed to hesitate, but nevertheless, he spoke up.

“Hi,” he said in a soft voice. 

Mathias looked at him, noticing the way his dark eyelashes stuck together due to the tears he had surely shed during his conversation with Emil. “Hi.”

“I guess, I just wanted to say thank you,” Lukas said, rubbing his arm. He moved a piece of soft blond hair out of his eyes and leaned his chin into his hand. “I know I’m unbearably stubborn; it’s one of my worst traits.”

Mathias shrugged. “Good thing you have me,” he replied. 

Lukas smiled, a genuine one. His free hand brushed Mathias’s arm, fingertips touching the fabric of his shirt with the softness of a paintbrush. Mathias looked down at his hand and then up to Lukas. “I’m serious,” he said. “Thank you. I was acting foolish and you showed me that I was.”

He took Lukas’s hand, pressing his knuckles against his lips, kissing them and then letting them rest under his chin. “You don’t have to hide your feelings from me or Emil, y’know. We aren’t out to hurt you. I’m not leaving, and I don’t think Emil will either.”

“I’m naturally pretty reserved,” Lukas admitted, looking from Mathias to his own hand. His face was soft, no longer holding all the anxiety in between smile lines and eyelid creases. “I’ve just never been one to wear my heart on my sleeve and tell people what I’m feeling.”

Nodding, Mathias rubbed his thumb across his knuckles. “I guess I’ve just always been the opposite… I’m… not used to it, I guess.” He looked up at him, taking in his bright face, drowning in his dark eyes. “But I can get used to it. Being with an introvert, I mean.”

At this, Lukas smiled and looked down. There was a blush spreading across his face, remaining there even when he asked, “Was Emma extroverted?”

Mathias laughed and nodded. It felt strange to laugh after having been crying only a few minutes before. But what could he do? His emotions were a storm, untameable, taking control of his body whenever they wanted to. He wished he was as in control with his feelings as Lukas was. “Oh, very. I mean, _really_ talkative. Always with someone, and when she wasn’t she was miserable,” Mathias said, grinning. “She always had a boyfriend.”

Lukas shrugged as if saying, _Well, what can you do?_ They settled into silence, holding hands, looking at each other for a while, and then out to the dock. Mathias figured it was best to stay quiet and not question what Lukas had talked about with Emil. He knew that it was better to let them have privacy. Besides, it was sure to come up eventually. If they couldn’t talk about themselves, Mathias figured he’d try to dig up dirt on Elizaveta more.

“Lukas,” Mathias whispered, not turning to look at him but rather keeping his eyes focused on the hypnotic waves.

Lukas hummed to tell that he was listening. Mathias moved closer to him so that he could rest his head on Lukas’s shoulder. “When I was at Elizaveta’s I saw some old pictures of her. She was… so different. Like genuinely happy and shit. What happened?”

Lukas sighed gently, resting his head on top of Mathias’s. “People change, and wondering if it was good or bad is kind of pointless,” he whispered, securing his hold on Mathias’s hand. 

He made a slightly frustrated noise. “No, I mean, I _know_ she was happier,” Mathias started. “You can just see it in the way she holds herself like she’s floating or something.” 

“She’s had a hard life,” Lukas answered simply. “You can’t assume she was happy and then a switch got flipped and she started spiraling into despair.”

Mathias didn’t respond, trying to fit his head around Lukas’s words, but too emotionally drained to do so. So they stayed out there for a while, just sitting and breathing together. It was cold out but warm enough to be together. Mathias reveled in it all, feeling every blink and every breath he took because he wasn’t sure if he’d lose Lukas but he knew that it was all too possible. Because after seeing something like Elizaveta with two very different men and not keeping wither one, Mathias suddenly realized how expendable his current relationships were. One day, it might’ve been Lukas or Emil behind a trigger at a train station. One day it might be lavender or foxgloves he might’ve been smelling as he reminisced about the loss of the only two people in the world that he had left.

But for now, it was peaceful, like this was the eye of the hurricane, and whatever happened afterward he was prepared for. Besides, it was April, warm and sunny, certainly not hurricane season. How bad could the storm be?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> phew, that was a hard chapter to finish. my concussion is no longer keeping me from writing & i'm on spring break, so i'm super excited about that :) also, for everyone who is interested in my prequel story about elizaveta, gilbert, and roderich, it will be posted over the weekend after i finish editing.
> 
> it's really good to be writing this story again <3
> 
> much love,  
> tate


	15. Before

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **“If ever I was running, it was towards you.” ― Jennifer Elisabeth**

**April 6th, 1940 — Kristiansand, Norway  
68 Hours Before**

In the eye of the hurricane, there was peace and quiet for once inside of the small house by the pier. 

Emil still played his music early in the mornings while making breakfast with Mathias. Lukas still refused to eat their impractical breakfast foods (the newest one being some sort of “bread” made using half cake batter and half scrambled eggs.) Mathias still sat outside every day, sometimes daring to go as far as to the dock to kick the water below with the tip of his shoes. And it was getting warmer outside. It was no longer frigid and an early spring and long summer awaited them.

Emil was especially excited for the summer time. Like Ursula, he started to go stir-crazy if he was trapped inside for too long. He loved when he could wear loose clothing and run to the grassy areas outside of Kristiansand. Somewhere close by, a field of short grass with an old water mill was nearby. He’d been going there to daydream ever since he’d found Ursula stuck underneath the enormous wooden wheel.

So instead of occupying himself by walking aimlessly through the town or re-reading any book from their library. He stood up from his seat at the table overlooking the dock across the street and grabbed his coat. The front door swung open with ease and shut behind him, leaving a confused Ursula trapped on the other side. It was chilly but sunny. Emil ran a hand through his hair and breathed deeply, shutting his eyes and letting the cold air fill his lungs. After a moment he opened his eyes and started to walk slowly. He was precautious at first, walking the same speed as those whom he passed on the sidewalks. They all greeted him with a nod and he did the same. The sun was bright, blinding him momentarily as it peeked out from behind a house. He started to pick up his speed, walking past people too quickly for them to say hello. He saw a few kids jogging together, making a turn onto a nearby street and disappearing from his view. So he did the same, jogging down the road faster until the sun was beckoning him to run.

He ran, passing the slightly cramped houses of Kristiansand, brushing by fisherman, and being bombarded with the smells and colors of the market that was full of lingering customers who were measuring spices and buying beets and carrots for dinner. Emil started to sweat so he pushed the sleeves of his sweater up to elbows. Past the market, he started to encounter the houses that were closer to the green grass and dirt roads. His feet kicked up dust behind him; there were still patches of snow littering the field, but considering how pleasantly warm it was, they would surely be melted by the end of the week. 

Eventually, the houses became more and more scattered, and he started to hear dogs barking to each other from acres away. His pace started to slow and the pain in his lungs and legs was getting the better of him. Eventually, he stopped just short of the familiar open fields. He put his hands on his knees and wiped the sweat from his forehead. Hot breath tickled his skin and when he looked up he saw the water wheel house, framed by the bright blue sky. With his heart beating a little faster, he began jogging again and approached the water wheel house. It was surrounded by skeletal bushes, their brown branches twisted and covered in dew from melted snow. The ground was muddy and soft and as he got closer to the water wheel house he noticed it got even muddier. The small creek under the wheel was trickling through the familiar ditch where he found Ursula some years ago. He jumped across the creek bank, almost slipping from the mud. _This is nostalgic_ , Emil thought to himself. He walked to the entrance and opened the rickety, knobless door.

Inside, the first floor was still intact. It was a medium-sized room with relatively nice wooden floors with a dusty abandoned rug in the middle. There were two wooden chairs in the corner, one of which missing its front right leg. And of course, there was a small mattress with a chest beside it in the corner near the broken window. Emil walked over to the chest and opened it with ease, revealing two clean blankets and a pillow. He reached deeper to discover a stack of books he’d read a million times, a notebook, two pencils, and three model airplanes. When he’d found this place on his rescue mission for Ursula he had fallen in love with it. Perhaps it was the only time he’d ever fallen in love with anything. He threw the blankets onto the mattress to create a makeshift bed for him to collapse into. It was nice to rest after the nearly 3-kilometer run to get to this place. He opened the notebook, smiling upon seeing his messy 12-year-old handwriting and then someone else’s handwriting on a paper which was pasted into the book.

He remembered school vividly, mostly because he was always the youngest in his class. In second grade, he had been moved to a fourth-grade classroom because he had already learned everything he needed to know. It was easy to learn these things when Lukas was always sharing his homework with him and teaching him concepts such as multiplication and division, how to read chapter books, and plate tectonics as early as 7 years-old. He remembered English class in secondary school specifically. They had been paired with pen-pals in Hong Kong to practice English. His fingers brushed over the sloppy, narrow letters written in pencil. He put his head against the pillow and started to read.

_Dear Emil,_

_Hello, my name is Li Xiao Chun, but in English my name is Leon. I live in Hong Kong and I am very excited to be your pen pal. Norway is quite far away from Hong Kong, but it is interesting that we are both learning English._

_Do you speak any other languages besides English? I speak Mandarin and I am also learning French. I hope you respond soon._

_Sincerely,  
Leon_

He grinned, his eyes lingering on misspelled words. “Interesting” was re-written and crossed out three times before Leon had settled on “interstering.” On the next page was another letter from Leon. This one was dated to have been written in early July, far after school had been let out. Hong Kong and Norway were quite far from each other, as Leon has mentioned, making the wait between letters nearly a month or so. Emil put his hand behind his head and began to read.

_Dear Emil,_

_Norwegian and Icelandic sound very interesting. Perhaps I will take up one of them after I master English and French. To be honest, I did not know Iceland has its own language. I have a feeling I will learn a lot more while in correspondence with you._

_As for current events, I have nothing good to say. Another fight has started between China and Japan, and I fear Hong Kong might become involved in the future. China and Japan were shooting each other at the Marco Polo bridge to Beijing. I hope they stop fighting. Many of my friends say they don’t like these happenings either._

_What is Europe like? Have any countries started to shoot each other? I have heard Europe is close to starting a fight again. I will rely on your opinion for this information._

_Sincerely,  
Leon_

Emil’s eyebrows came together. He remembered receiving this letter from Leon, confused about what he had been talking about. Now, he knew China and Japan and been at war three years prior to the rest of Europe. He set the notebook down beside him and stared at the ceiling. His fingers brushed the soft worn paper and picked at the dried glue holding the letters inside. The roof had cracks in it too, much like the rest of the house. He knew there was an upstairs room, but seeing as part of the stairs had caved in, he thought it best not to try to venture up there. Besides, there were probably bats and mice.

He thought about Leon, wondering what he was up to now that it was inevitable Japan was going to take China for good. Hong Kong, so distant and small, was surely on the Japanese’s to-do list somewhere along the line. However, it was unlikely the Japanese wanted to invoke Britain’s rage upon themselves. 

Was it unlikely?

It didn’t matter. Pessimistic as ever, Emil predicted Britain would be fighting Germany, Italy, and Japan all by itself eventually.

Emil laid there, watching the ceiling. He thought about the war, suddenly hit by just how real it was. Austria, Czechoslovakia, and Poland had already been lost and it wouldn’t be much longer until other nations were erased from the map. 

He wondered what was happening in Iceland. At times like this, he missed it. Norway was much more interesting in his mind but it was so overwhelming in reality. When he thought about just how big Norway was he often felt anxiety. In Iceland, there had been his home, his brother, and his parents. No Mathias. Not Elizaveta. No war. No death. 

A boring, simple life wasn’t as bad as he remembered. Because boring and simple meant safe and sound.

Outside, clouds were starting cover the sky in a thick white blanket. He sat up, leaning his head against the window sill and sighing. A chilly breeze swept a few pieces of his silvery hair out of his eyes. April weather was always been fickle. Emil should’ve guessed that after a week of sunshine and warmth, the day he went outside it would start to become cold again.

He stood up and started to pack his things. He folded the blanket and stuffed it into the chest along with the pillow. He set the model airplane on top and hesitated when he reached down to retrieve the notebook. Emil picked it up, looking at the various pages of scribbled handwriting, both his and Leon’s. The pages filled with his smudgy blue pen were mostly rants about his family, this he knew. His eyes skimmed over familiar words like “Lukas,” “prick,” and “ _mamma._ ” Fingertips flipping to the last page he filled, he looked over the small block of words containing only a few sentences: Mamma _and_ pappa _have been gone for five months now. Lukas said he met someone who can help. I keep rereading mamma’s last letter, looking for some sort of sign she’s in danger, but at this point, it’s illegible considering how much water damage it has been subjected to. I can barely get past the first “I love you.”_

Emil sighed and shut the notebook, resting it on top of the folded blanket and snapping the chest shut. He leaned his arms against the top of it, his vision blurring slightly. He felt tears pricking his eyes but refused to let them fall. He straightened up and walked to the door of the house and opened it. The creaking hinges screamed at him not to look back. He knew if he did, he’d never be able to look forward again.

… 

**April 7th, 1940 — Paris, France  
22 Hours Before**

Emma didn’t smoke, but standing on her balcony in nothing but a silk robe that was slipping off her shoulder, she wanted nothing more than the buzz of energy cigarettes provided.

Germany would be cold, Francis had warned her. He told her she’d better pack warmer clothes than the ones she had. A coldness only foresaw by God Himself was creeping up, making itself known by hitting her face with gusts of icy air and showing frost on her windows. She dragged her finger across the frost and examined the fast-melting flakes before flicking them off. April was supposed to be cold like this, but that tease of summer air and sunshine had left her wanting more. She tucked her honey-colored hair behind her ear and crossed her arms. 

Francis had also assured her that her mission in Germany would be very easy. Though purposely leaving out the explicit details, he told her that her job was to get “very well acquainted” with an SS officer in charge of deportations. She needed to get him in a vulnerable position so she could steal documents regarding the mass exodus of German-Jews and other minorities. Francis rambled on about the Jews being used to provide Germany with the raw materials and manual labor they needed. She knew they hated Jewish people in Germany. During her German lessons, Francis had her listen and translate one of Hitler’s many fast-paced and passionate speeches wherein he slandered the Jewish men and women living in the country. Halfway through she stumbled over a few words, surprised they were even coming from her mouth. French only had so many words and at some points, she was sure there was no French equivalent to the hateful things he spewed. 

It started to drizzle, small drops of rain floating through the foggy air and sticking to her silk robe. She smoothed out her hair and took one more look off of the balcony before stepping back into her room. It was simply too cold out to be standing there looking at nothing. Emma stripped her silk robe and walked to her practically empty dresser drawers. Seeing as her clothes were all packed, she took the one outfit she’d left for herself. Emma dressed, hiking beige pantyhose up her leg, slipping on a white blouse, and zipping up a black pencil skirt which touched a few centimeters below her knee. She shuffled over to her vanity, already missing its comfortable seat and clean mirror. Emma dabbed powder across her forehead and nose, then rubbed a peachy rouge onto her cheeks. As she brushed mascara on and darkened her eyebrows. As the makeup was being smeared across her cheeks, she began to contemplate her mission once more.

Was this really what she wanted to do? Sure, Broadway had been a flop, but perhaps if she had kept at it a little longer she would have made something of it. If she had kept at it longer, she would no longer be a dressing room girl; she would have become one of the star girls who got to perform rather than serve. 

She sighed and looked at her reflection. Emma knew she was pretty. Her face was smooth and glowy, dotted with dark freckles and beauty marks. If she raised her eyebrow and pouted, she looked like a young Veronica Lake. Emma ran her fingers through her hair and rested her elbows on the table. The waves of side-swept hair felt stiff due to the drizzle from earlier. With every second looking in the mirror, she wished she was a carbon copy of Veronica Lake. If only she was a little bit prettier. 

After a few minutes of gazing at herself in the mirror, a gentle knock came from her door. She glanced at it, knowing full well it was Arthur getting ready to take her to the station. She’d take a train to Luxembourg and from there, she’d take a train to Frankfurt. She wondered how she would react to being so close to Belgium, only a few hundred kilometers away from home.

_I wonder if I can visit Mathias_ , she thought as another knock resounded.

“Emma?” Arthur asked voice muffled through the wall.

“Sorry, come in,” she rushed out, fixing her hair. She looked at the red ribbon by her right hand and hesitated before taking it and tying it around her head.

Arthur walked in, holding his coat close to him and taking his hat off. His hair was messy, as per usual. Arthur eyed her before smiling gently and saying, “Well don’t you look beautiful.”

She smiled, rolling her eyes and ignoring the dull bite of pain in her chest. “Thank you, Artie,” she replied quietly. “I figured today was as good as any to dress up for my new German suitor.”

He smirked and walked to her chair, holding out a hand to help her stand from her seat. “I’m sure he’ll be very pleased to be doing business with such a renowned businesswoman as Elsa Ringelblume,” he teased as he pulled her to her feet. Emma couldn’t help but laugh at the monstrosity that was her new undercover name. Elsa Ringelblume was simply a play on Emma Marigold. Ringelblume was German for marigold and Elsa seemed to be the only German name Francis could think of.

“That’s me,” she said, looking up at him with a grin. His eyes were bright green, noticeable from across a crowded room. She wished her pale eyes resembled his. “Time to sell some metal from my father’s totally legit business.”

He put his hat back on and handed her the new fur coat she had been gifted. Francis had been so kind to her, sprinkling her with gifts such as fresh roses in her room, Colombian coffee in the mornings, and a fur coat for her journey to Germany. Arthur didn’t seem to be jealous but he stared at her coat a little too long for her to be comfortable. She coughed, causing him to start. “Right,” he nodded, “let’s be on our way.”

They left the room, Emma holding her bags in hand and taking one last look at the room and her warm bed. She felt dread in her stomach and turned away, letting Arthur shut the door behind her. Something about leaving her room made her feel sick.

They descended the stairs leading up to her room and slipped out the front door of the building. Outside, there was a black car waiting for them. Francis smoked out a cracked window and smiled upon seeing them both. He rolled down the window and leaned his head out. 

“Are you ready?” he asked her, an effortless twinkle in his blue eyes. 

She smiled gently, looking down and ignoring the cold rain that was pelting her face and hair. “As ready as I’ll ever be,” she responded. The rain was falling heavier than before so as soon as Arthur had packed all of her bags into the back of the small car, he helped her into the car and collapsed ungracefully into his own seat. His shiny blonde hair was pasted to his forehead with rainwater; his cheeks were a sweet, rosy red, though his eyes were bright with anger. He glared at the back of Francis’ head as the car started, talking them down a bumpy cobblestone road. Emma glanced at Arthur, sulking by the window, and then returned her attention to Francis, who was eager to talk to her.

He pulled a small cream colored folder from his bag and handed it to her, opening the first page for her. “This is the person you’ll be with,” he said, pointing to a grainy picture full of different men. One man towards the top left row was circled. He was staring intensely, sharp features barely noticeable under the layer of grain from the poorly developed picture.

“Sorry about the quality—he’s a bit older now as this picture was taken about two years ago. Anyways, he works very closely under a certain Lieutenant-Colonel Eichmann, the one in charge of deportations. Don’t be fazed by the name. It simply means he’s one of their most despicable men,” Francis explained, now pointing to a picture of someone much older looking. 

Emma felt her heart stop beating and narrowed her eyes. “I thought you said I’d be with Eichmann,” she said quietly, looking up at Francis.

He shook his head and flipped the page. “No, I’m afraid not. It’s too dangerous to come into direct contact with someone of such high authority, and—no offense—you’re just not ready for this kind of mission. It’d involve him cheating on his wife of over five years and we cannot afford to cause a scene. It’s not safe for anyone involved.”

Emma’s gaze lingered on Francis for a second, annoyance simmering in her gut. She turned to look at the pages, deciding it best to not say anything.

Francis continued, retracting his hand from the paper. “This is the basic information we have about him. His name is Ludwig Beilschmidt—very quintessentially German, might I add—and he has been working with the SS for two years. The picture from the other page is from his first year. However, he’s had a very, very long history of working with the Nazis. He joined the Hitler Youth at thirteen with his older brother. He is smart and known to report any strange happenings to his superiors if he cannot take care of it himself. He’s a strong person, Emma. Mentally, physically, and emotionally. Always take into consideration the manipulation he’s been taught to recreate with his enemies. Throughout this mission, you will not be safe as long as you’re with him, so don’t let him see past your pretty face. Understood?” Francis was looking at her quite sharply, dreamy blue eyes turned into knives. She nodded and looked back down at the paper. Her heart was racing.

“How do you have all of this information?” Emma questioned, looking from picture to picture and document to document. There were small notes about each man in the side of the paper, like small annotations. She noted the English and again glanced at Arthur, still staring angrily out the window.

“Our agent in Norway, who I’m sure I’ve mentioned before, spent some time in Austria in close contact with him and his brother. She gave us information about all of the SS affiliated men she met there and Ludwig was of most importance. He’s the gateway to the most information but she insists he won’t say anything,” Francis said, a smirk spreading across his lips. “But who’s to say a beautiful woman won’t open his mouth?”

Emma felt cold and forced herself to smile. Francis patted her shoulder, trying to comfort her it seemed. Something about his soft touch told her he knew just how nervous she truly was. Men were easy to navigate when they were seeking her affection, but she wasn’t exactly sure how to make a stone cold Nazi fall for her. 

The car started to slow and Emma peered out the window to see they had arrived at the station. The rain was hitting the glass, causing everything to look blurred and cold. Francis tapped Arthur’s shoulder and leaned in to whisper something in his ear. Arthur’s face remained annoyed as he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out another small folder. Francis took it and opened it up, holding it out to her.

“This is very important, too. It’s your agenda and everything you need to do is written on each day. We figure this could take about a month, so I’ve taken into account any extra days you will have away from him. You have four days off, which you’ll use to get into contact with me,” he said. In the back, she saw some scribbled numbers and codes for her to use. He flipped to an empty page and held out a pen to her, grinning at her. 

“Now all we need is the star’s autograph,” he said.

“For what?” Emma smiled and took the pen, hesitating to write on the paper. 

Francis shrugged. “I think it’s best to get it now. It’ll be hard once you become the next Vivien Leigh.”

Arthur was watching them, arms crossed and eyes narrowed. His dark brows were pinched together in a bitter expression, and just as she was about to write her name, he groaned. “For Christ’s sake, “ _agenda_.” It’s a fucking calendar, you prick, not an agenda or autograph book.”

Francs turned to look at Arthur, an amused look on his face. “Oh dear, who spit in your tea this morning,” he teased.

“We’re going to be late,” Arthur snapped, giving him a pointed glare before stepping out of the car. He slammed the door behind him, leaving Emma and Francis staring quietly.

Francis broke the silence by taking the “calendar,” as Arthur had called it, out of her hands. Without thinking, she quickly reached out to stop him and expertly signed her name in a fast flick of her wrist. She offered a sweet smile, one she had mastered when she was a young teen. The boys always liked it and Francis seemed to enjoy it too. “There,” she said.

Emma stepped out of the car, heels barely keeping her steady on the slippery cobblestone. Her hair was already a damp frizzy mess—there was no point in trying to maintain the curls she had worked so hard on. She met Arthur around the back of the car and took her bags, attempting to make eye contact with him. He seemed angry, perhaps even jealous. She sighed and averted her eyes from him. Soon after, Francis joined them and stuffed his hands into his coat. He stood in front of them with an unreadable, observing look on his face. As Emma got her bags situated he nodded at the two of them to follow him into the station.

Emma trailed somewhat behind and to the right of Francis. Arthur was three steps behind altogether. He fell behind, mist rising from his clothes as though his anger was causing him to steam. As the group entered the beautiful station, Arthur seemed to perk up, taking in the scenery with a wistful look in his eyes. Francis looked at him with a knowing grin on his lips and then turned to Emma to whisper to her. 

“He used to work in a station before,” he said, guiding her past small groups of people speaking rapid French and trying to dry off from the freezing rain. “He quit that job of six years just to come live here with me.”

She glanced over her shoulder. Arthur was looking at his feet, no longer radiating the anger he’d had a few moments ago. Almost as if sensing her stare, he caught her intruding gaze. She looked away.

They neared the station, nearly vacant of people save for a small family of three and an elderly couple speaking to each other in whispers and the brushes of hands against their scarves. Emma pulled her warm coat closer to her body, a chill running under her skin. She knew it wasn’t from the cold weather. 

Francis instructed her to set her bags down and he looked at his wrist adorned with a watch. “Three minutes, give or take,” he said, looking from Emma to Arthur. “It will be here soon.”

_The train_ , Emma thought, looking at the seemingly endless tracks which would carry her on to a new place. A new task. She almost wished her brother was there. _See_ , she’d say, gesturing to her clothes, the tracks, and the men with her. _Acting did come in handy._

Emma found it hard to believe only a few weeks ago she had been set on coming home and giving up her life in New York. After countless men, affairs, and times convincing herself she’d make it even after being given a job as a maid for the theater, she let her dreams fall from her fingertips like water running towards a drain. They were nothing more than dreams. Her brother had been right.

She had also managed to convince herself things would go back to being the same as they were with Mathias. She imagined walking down the dirt path to his house leading up to the front doorstep and knocking twice. She’d say hello to his parents, his mother’s sleeves rolled up from cooking to reveal the rose scent that clung to her skin and his father looking up from the table to peer over his newspaper. She’d ask if Mathias was home and they’d direct her, like always, to the barn. She’d thank them, wait until they had shut the door and then jog to the barn, kicking her heels off mid-way and throwing her coat to the ground. The seemingly insignificant piece of cloth Mathias had given her before she left become would a little heavier in her pocket. And she would’ve run into the barn and seen Mathias sitting there, reading, smoking, listening to the radio, and dreaming of somewhere far away from Brussels.

Maybe her parents were right about marrying and settling down. She knew they expected her to marry rich, but what about Mathias? He was so handsome, smart, sincere, and kind. He had known her for as long as she could remember, and even when she was leaving him he told her to live her life. He told her to chase the dream she’d always wanted. She brushed a piece of knotty blonde hair from her face sighing. Maybe he was supposed to be the one.

Emma looked around, taking in fumes that filled the air and the strong metal beams with intricate designs on them. They were beautiful while still managing to keep the roof from caving in.

_Thank goodness for meeting Francis_ , she thought. _At least America got me one good thing: an opportunity in Paris._

“Before I go,” she started, gaining the attention of both Francis and Arthur, “I just wanted to say thank you. I’m very glad I met you both and it’s so kind of you to give me a job that will… change something.” She looked from one to the other and then looked down at her feet. She tapped her heels together gently. “I would’ve been in Belgium had I not met you, and I’d much rather be here. So...yeah. Thanks.”

A thunderous noise was coming from tracks, signaling the train coming nearer and nearer. Francis stepped forward and took her hand, pressing his cold fingertips into her skin. She kept eye contact with him, mouth ajar, and he leaned forward to kiss her cheek. Upon pulling away he patted her shoulder and retracted his hand. “You’re helping more people than you know. Thank _you_ , Emma,” he said, speaking in distinct Flemish. Emma looked at him with wide eyes and tried to recall the last time she had heard her native tongue spoken so gracefully.

She awkwardly nodded and looked at Arthur as the train approached behind, the wheels hissing against the tracks. Arthur looked down at her seeming unsure of what to do until her lips broke into a grin and she threw her arms around his shoulder, pulling him into a hug. He froze, then immediately returned the gesture by embracing her and patting her lower back gently. 

“You’ve been great to me. I don’t know what I’d have done without your help,” she pulled away and looked at his deep green eyes, tilting her head. “You look an awful lot like my brother, y’know. Act a little like him too.”

At this, Arthur’s expression softened and the tiniest of smiles came across his face. “Perhaps if I had a little sister you’d remind me of her.”

Emma laughed and released him, a shiver going through her body. A contrast of hot and cold raced under her skin causing her arms to shake ever-so-slightly. She squeezed the handle of her bag and looked at them each one last time, aware that perhaps this might be the last.

_No_ , a determined voice in her head told her. _You will not fail. In fact, you will succeed. This is your chance to prove to everyone—mom and dad, Abel, those men you catered to, hell even Mathias—you can do it._

“ _Au revoir_ ,” she said, stepping backward slowly, too afraid to turn around and face the train. “ _Vaarwel. Auf Wiedersehen. Levvel._ ” They watched her backing away, heels touching the marble floor with hard clicks until she only centimeters away from the train. One step back and she might’ve bumped into the man waiting to collect her ticket.

He looked down at her, ogling at her hair and chest a little too long for her liking. He adjusted his hat and spoke up. “Ticket?”

Emma held the paper up to the man; he pocketed it and gestured for her to step onto the train. She adjusted her grip on the bags and stepped on, feeling compelled to look around. The station was familiar like she’d been there before in a dream. Déjà vu overcame her. It was hot suddenly, and when she turned to look at Francis and Arthur they were staring at her with a confused look. She felt her heart racing. 

“Are you gonna get on or what?” the man asked, irritation clear in his tone. She nodded and forced herself to walk the rest of the two stairs before stepping inside and instantly training her eyes upon the window to watch Arthur and Francis until they would become nothing but specks in her rearview, smaller than dust particles on a map. She sat down on the seats deceivingly uncomfortable and yearned for a cigarette between her lips. 

Maybe she’d smoke outside later. She’d never been outside of a moving train before. Who knew? Perhaps it would be something to cross off of her bucket list. 

… 

Francis got into the car, shutting the door behind him and clutching the folder in his hands. His fingers were white from his iron grip and the bitter cold outside.

Arthur followed him into the car, arms crossed, pouting like a spoiled child. Francis waited for him to speak but it never came. Even after the car started up and they were driving down the bumpy road, Arthur remained silent.

It wasn’t until Francis placed his hand on Arthur’s thigh and said, “Arthur, please,” that he even gave him a glance.

“You really do know how to make me crazy,” Arthur said, anger laced in each word. English was so easy to manipulate into anger. “You tell me you love me, yet you can’t seem to take your eyes off of Emma and Elizaveta.”

Francis sighed, exasperated. He squeezed Arthur’s thigh and tilted his head. “You know how I am, how I talk.”

At this, Arthur whipped around to look at him, his eyes fiery and harsh. “You’re right. I do know how you talk. You talk and talk and talk until you have nothing to talk about. And then you kiss them and touch them, and forget about me.” With his disheveled wet hair and his cheeks red from the freezing air it was hard to look away. He sighed and rubbed his face, pulling his pale skin down and making him seem ten times older. “I just—I just don’t know. It kills me, Francis. Loving you kills me.”

“I’ve never once slept with any of the women we work with Arthur!” Francis protested. “I understand you’re jealous but me giving my attention to girls like Emma and Eliza isn’t me neglecting you!”

Arthur scoffed just as the car hit a bump in the road. “I’m like your personal bellboy whenever you have ‘business’ around. ‘Arthur, carry this’ and ‘Arthur do this’ is all I hear!” He pushed Francis’ hand off of his leg and ran a hand through his thick gold hair. “I gave up a life in England for you. I left my home to be with you and this is the thanks I get?”

“I never asked you to come to France!” Francis responded in an annoyed voice. He pinched his leg so as not to let anger make him shake. “You came here because you claimed you loved me. You said you wanted to be with me. Welcome to my world, Arthur! It’s not all roses and sunsets.” He felt a tension in his chest and tried to breathe slowly to make it go away but the look of bitterness and disgust in Arthur’s eyes only fed the fire. 

Arthur turned away from him, crossing his arms and pouting once again. “I do love you,” he said in a quiet voice. “I love you more than I’ve loved anything or anyone in my entire life. And if you claim you feel the same then why don’t you show it?” Had Arthur’s voice not cracked Francis would’ve been unaware of the tears forming in his eyes. Francis felt a sting in his heart and then the need to touch Arthur—hug him, hold him, love him—overcame him.

He reached out slowly and touched his shoulder. Arthur glanced at his hand. “Please, Arthur, I do love you. I love you in ways I cannot explain. Come here,” he said, pulling him into his arms. He held him there for a moment, burying his nose into Arthur’s straw-like hair. Arthur was stiff, perhaps out of stubbornness. He pressed his forehead into Francis’ shoulder, muttering “liar, liar, liar,” under his breath until his tears overpowered the volume of his words. 

When they parted, Arthur still had his arms crossed and ignored the kiss Francis placed on his burning face. He would be angry for the rest of the night; his stubbornness would not allow him to act any other way. So instead of trying to please him, Francis would leave him be for the time being. 

They took a turn and Francis found himself looking at the folder to pass the time. Upon reaching the last page, he noticed Emma’s signature, loopy and elegant. 

_Emma Mogens_ it read. 

His eyebrows came together and he traced a finger over the black ink. Emma Marigold, the girl he’d just sent off Germany surely hadn’t lied to them. Had she? Without hesitation, he turned to Arthur, showing him the signature. 

“Emma Mogens,” Francis said slowly. Arthur looked down at the paper with a confused look. Then he looked up to Francis. 

“Who the bloody hell is Emma Mogens,” he asked quietly. 

...

**April 8th, 1940 — Kristiansand, Norway  
22 Hours Before**

Lukas woke up for a moment, surprised by the gray light trying to slip through his black curtains.

_It must be the middle of the night_ , he thought rolling over, confronted by Mathias. 

Mathias was asleep, his normally sharp features toned down by his peaceful breathing. His arm was draped around Lukas and the bed was warm and quiet. So he leaned into Mathias and fell asleep again.

…

Lukas woke up about two hours later. He groggily opened his eyes and tried to sit up. He felt something on his arm and looked down. 

Mathias had been resting his head on his arm though he hadn’t been sleeping. He looked up at Lukas and smiled, his blue eyes soft and happy.

“Morning,” Mathias murmured, his breath tickling Lukas’s arm. He was propped up on his arm, looking over at Lukas. Lukas managed to smile sleepily and turned around to face him. 

“Hey,” Lukas replied reaching out and running his hand down Mathias’ arm. His eyes trailed over his body, strong defined muscles jutting out from under his velvety skin. Mathias looked pale in the dark gray light—even his hair looked a shade lighter. But to Lukas he wasn’t pale—he was glowing. Lukas rested his hands on his shoulder, thumb sitting in the dip of his collarbone. Mathias made a face and flexed his arm.

Lukas laughed quietly. “Nice,” he said pushing him away playfully. 

Mathias dropped his arm and fell onto his back, looking at Lukas and gesturing for him to lay on his chest. 

“We have to get up,” Lukas said sitting up. Now it was his turn to look down at Mathias.

Mathias groaned and waved his words away. “Can we just lay here for a few more minutes? You don’t have to work today, do you?” He blew a piece of light hair from his face. Mathias always had messy hair in the morning, something Lukas looked forward to seeing. He liked to see Mathias come undone, shed his exterior and show everything that made Mathias himself.

Lukas sighed and shook his head. “No, I don’t have work today but I have to do other things.”

Mathias perked up. “Like...?”

He held up a hand and started to count on his fingers as he listed things off: “Grocery shopping, clothes shopping for spring and summer, and Emil gave me money to buy him a new record.”

“And kissing me is scheduled to happen…” Mathias lifted his wrist and looked at an invisible watch. “Right now! Lucky for us!”

Lukas rolled his eyes. “You wish.” He started to stand up but hesitated and looked back at Mathias. He groaned and leaned in quickly, kissing Mathias and pulling back only to be stopped by Mathias’ hands on his back.

“I have to go,” Lukas said in a forlorn tone. He kissed Mathias’ forehead, cheek, and lips one last time before pulling back. This time, Mathias didn’t keep his arms around him.

Lukas dressed after peeking out the window to examine the weather. The frost on the window panes and the fog hanging over the water was enough to let him know it was far too cold to be wearing spring clothes. He took note of the small flurries falling and sighed. For someone who had lived in the north his entire life, he was so sick of seeing snowfall after snowfall. 

He wrapped a scarf around his neck and shrugged his coat on. Across the room, he heard Mathias laugh. He turned to look at the blond boy laying in his bed and made face in between that of confusion and being amused. “What?” he asked with a small smile.

Mathias shook his head and instead of replying, rose up from the bed to walk over to Lukas. He stood in front of him, tall and strong, and wrapped his arms around Lukas. Although he was confused Lukas did the same and leaned his head against Mathias’ shoulder.

They stayed like that for a minute or so until Lukas spoke up. “This doesn’t answer my question.”

Mathias leaned back and looked down at him. “I don’t know. You’re just so—so… cute, for lack of a better word,” Mathias replied, rushing out the last part. 

Lukas scoffed and pushed Mathias away, trying hard to hide the exasperated smile on his face. “Oh my god, ‘cute.’ _Please_. Put me out of my misery” he joked. He started towards the door, brushing his hand on Mathias’ arm. Once he reached the door he looked back, taking in the sight of Mathias shirtless standing in the middle of his room one last time. Lukas leaned against the door and felt the smile fall from his face leaving a much softer and vulnerable expression in its place. He opened his mouth to speak, unsure of what to say but hoping the words would come to him. 

“I’ll, um, I’ll see you later,” he said, waving awkwardly. 

Mathias nodded, imitating his expression. “I’ll see you later too.”

Lukas felt his cheeks flush and turned away from Mathias. He left the room without hesitation and started down the stairs towards the kitchen and front door.

Emil was dozing on the couch so he was sure to stay quiet as he shut the front door behind him. Though the world was quiet, his mind was setting off an alarm telling him to stay home with Mathias and board up the windows. Hurricanes were uncommon in northern Europe, but something about the eerily quiet town was off-putting. And something about the snow looking as if it was rising from the ground instead of falling from the sky made him wonder if a hurricane would be coming soon. 

… 

**April 9th, 1940 — Kristiansand, Norway  
2 Hours Before**

Elizaveta received a call from Francis shortly after she woke up that morning. He very hastily explained the details of the mission in Germany, mentioning names Elizaveta hadn’t heard in what felt like a century.

“She’ll be with Ludwig,” he said in a strained voice, the receiver muffling at random times. He sounded as if he were in pain or experiencing immense pleasure. She took a vote on the latter as soon as she heard a small, almost missable “fuck” thrown into the air.

She sighed, pinching her eyebrows and wishing she could’ve slammed the telephone into pieces right then and there. 

Elizaveta tried to speak up several times. At first, she tried to mention “Solveig.” The rest of the translated and decoded document was very vague and alarming—the word Blitzkrieg was explicitly mentioned, most likely a mistake on the writer’s part. But nevertheless, it was there. Francis didn’t hear—or he at least pretended not to hear. Elizaveta also kept trying to speak up about the Belgian girl's mission. Francis said Emma in regards to the Belgian girl so it was easy to figure out from there. She would try to interject, saying things like “Well, Francis, I don’t think it’ll work because—” and “Ludwig isn’t going to fall for Emma because—” But of course, she was almost always cut off by a hush from Francis and moan disguised as a cough. 

“If he doesn’t want to put his dick in her the minute he looks at her, I’ll turn myself into those damn, _fucking_ Nazis,” Francis replied, emphasizing his curse a little too strongly for her to be comfortable. Elizaveta didn’t roll her eyes or sigh. Instead, she simply replied, “alright,” and set the receiver in its holder. After hanging up on him she was surprised she hadn’t done it before. 

It was cold in Norway again. Frigid, actually. No longer was she sitting around wearing sundresses covered in dust from their months packed away in her drawers. Instead, she was wearing men’s flannel pants she’d bought at the market the first day she arrived in Norway and a sweater Lukas or Emil had left in her office. Men’s clothes always seemed to cooperate better with her than women’s. She couldn’t for the life of her find a pair of women’s pajama pants—only nightgowns. And that, to her, was insulting.

So she sat in her flannel and drank tea while smoking a cigarette and writing down different words and letters been thrown around in the latest document from Francis. It was nonsense so to say. Simply strange Hungarian and German words mixed to form extremely hard to understand sentences. The German and Hungarian words seemed to dance across the page, spinning and trading places until they died off and became nothing but letters and numbers. Not only was she translating; she was conjugating as well. She got halfway through a sentence using both a Hungarian verb and German verb and decided to let it go. Her head was pounding from trying to jump through mental hoops of each language.

It was snowing outside. The windows were frosted and the sun hadn’t even begun to emerge from its deep sleep. After giving up on translating she decided to play some music. Emil played a song called “Star Dust” by Bing Crosby which she had quite enjoyed. But after finding a slower, more romantic cover of the song she had fallen in love even more. So “Star Dust” played, the record spinning slowly on its track. 

Elizaveta took a drag from her cigarette and leaned her head back against her chair, hair falling over the back. She exhaled slowly and watched the small licks and curls of smoke rise from her lips. It would be a slow day, as usual. All of her days were slow.

Ever since she stopped dancing, the days seemed to drag on. She remembered in Vienna she had practice every single day without fail. It was hard work and often she left sore and tired but it was better than sitting around and smoking her lungs black.

Her fingers twitched and her legs were practically falling off the seat from her tired slouch. She brought the cigarette to her lips and stood up from her seat. _Perhaps I will make something of today_ , the proposed to herself.

She walked across the room and towards the stairs, each step creaking under her foot. Once she has completed the climb to her office, she looked around, hand on hip, and examined the mess that was her workspace. Elizaveta sighed and stabbed her cigarette out on a nearby ashtray. First, she needed to clean her room. Then she needed to quit smoking.

Books laid on the floor, papers were cluttered on her desk, and her ashtray was overflowing with cigarettes she had finished in record time due to anxiety filling her faster than she could comprehend. She started to pick up the books and papers, returning them to their designated spots. Elizaveta tucked the papers away into a folder drawer. Most of them were scrap paper with random German and Hungarian words scribbled on them. However, it was important she kept them somewhere safe so as not to draw suspicion. Suspicion from who? Anyone, really. 

Elizaveta hated the fact that she had to hide every little thing from everyone. Even the shadows on the walls were left in the dark about the work she did when no one looked. Francis had been very serious about making sure none of her work was taken by her neighbors, her potential lovers, or anyone affiliated with the Germans. Obviously, she had known about the German part—but Elizaveta had denied she would keep in contact with her neighbors to acquire a lover at any point. She thought of Lukas and Emil. She had kept contact with neighbors, this was for sure. But lovers were a different topic.

As she picked up books and crumpled up papers and thought about her various “lovers.” After arriving in Norway she’d found that entertaining men's needs brought in good money. Francis told her he’d send money for her to live off of but it simply hadn’t been enough. He thought it best she stay out of the public eye as she was translating and decoding extremely secret documents. But the money still wasn’t enough for her. So she was out and about at night, slipping into her neighbor’s houses while their wives slept and letting them do as they pleased in a different room. Now, she had stopped this business because she had made so much money she had leftovers. But the very idea of a young 20-year-old Elizaveta doing these things made her sick. She wasn’t 20 anymore. She wasn’t 19 anymore either. Her stages were categorized by her age and currently, she was 21, falling into a downward spiral of despair and paranoia. If only she wasn’t just sitting around anxiously awaiting the next round of danger. She’d rather have an idea of what was happening rather than waiting for the first hit.

And that’s how the war had been for them. After Poland fell and war was declared, it seemed everyone was just sitting around waiting for someone to throw the first punch. She figured as long as Germany had its little corner of Poland, all of Czechoslovakia, and Austria, they’d be content with leaving the rest of Europe alone. 

Except for Hungary of course. Her homeland was blindly following in Germany’s footsteps by ordering all Jewish men to become slaves to the nation. Forced labor was like a disease running rampant through the country, snatching Jews from their homes and throwing them into a quarry, mine, or railroad. She felt sick just imagining it. She couldn’t even imagine the streets of Budapest anymore—in her mind the streets were empty. 

As she picked up an old paperback book, she thought of Budapest and her home in Hungary. It’d been more than two years since she left. She sighed heavily and shoved the book under her arm. 

After her office was relatively clean she sat down on her couch, leaning against the velvet fabric. Her knees were heavy and her head felt like it was made of lead. Elizaveta had been hiding for too long. Two years too long.

Elizaveta tried to recall the first time she’d met Mathias. She’d asked him what his escape was and he told her a name. Someone irrelevant seeing as it was more of a question for herself. What was she escape anymore? Without ballet, hiding in a tower like Rapunzel, who was she?

Her own escape currently was performing forced labor in Austria, his knees breaking under the rocks he carried and the men who hurt him when he couldn’t do anymore. She knew he was still alive but he wasn’t truly living. How could he when he was awaiting the day he’d die?

All Elizaveta knew was that he was in danger and she didn’t know how much longer she had to save him. 

Outside it started to snow harder, the winds picking up and throwing the snowflakes sideways. She could have stayed there watching the snowflakes drift through the air. They were hypnotic. Instead, the phone rang, it’s incessant chiming heard from her spot on the second floor. Elizaveta groaned, burying her face in her hands before rising from her seat and jogging down the stairs. It was always something. It was always during a moment of peace when she was reminded how horrible this world really was.

As she approached the telephone, she felt hesitation rising in her chest. Without thinking too hard she picked up the phone.

When Francis had first started calling her, she answered in French. He’d reprimanded her for being so transparent and told her Norwegian was better for answering unknown calls. It didn’t bother Elizaveta too much so she continually switched between French and Norwegian. “ _Allô_?”

“Eliza,” a breathless Francis said through the phone. “You have to listen to me.” His tone was stressed and worried, something she hadn’t heard in forever. Impatience filled her chest.

“Francis, you have to leave me alone,” she replied angrily. “You can’t call me in the middle of sex and expect me to listen. I keep telling you this mission won’t work but you don’t li—”

“Elizaveta, would you shut up for one second! I’m trying to—”

“ _Excuse_ me?” she questioned. “Don’t fucking call me again.” The last thing she heard from the phone was his furious protests before she slammed the receiver into his holder so hard she heard a crack. Her breathing felt constrained; she bent over to the side to look at the holder and noticed it had been broken where the connection line was. She clenched her fists as she straightened up and in the spur of the moment, took the phone and holder and threw them at her wall, breaking whatever pieces made the phone work.

Her chest was heaving up and down as though predicting a wave of tears coming on. But instead, she just exhaled through her teeth and grabbed a cigarette, moving to stand by her window and look out onto the street where the houses lined up until they met the pier. She lit her cigarette and let the smoke soothe her tense body. Had she not been calmed by the nicotine she might've gotten the urge to punch the window out of hate just for the specks of dirt she saw on it. 

Through the vignette of dying fury, she started to notice these microscopic specks bobbing up and down. Perhaps bugs trying to survive this early spring snow were crawling around. But as she focused her vision, eyebrows pinching together, she saw they were outside the window on the water.

_Boats?_ Elizaveta thought. _Fishermen can’t fish in this weather._

So she watched. And watched. And watched until the specks were ant-sized and suddenly weren’t just boats. The snow looked softer now and as though it was rising from the ground. Elizaveta felt her blood going colder and colder with every passing second, desperately trying to convince herself that these black objects were whales or fishermen. But even though the vision-impairing snowstorm, she knew.

She knew. 

No longer did she live in the calm. Not when the storm was knocking on her doorstep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow this was a long fricking chapter
> 
> i cant believe im at the part i've dreamed about writing since i was like.... 13. i've had this idea in my mind for so long... damn.
> 
> thank you so much for reading <3 see you in the next one
> 
> much love,  
> tate


	16. The Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **“Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength, while loving someone deeply gives you courage.”  
>  – Lao Tzu.**

Part Three

**April 9th, 1940 — Kristiansand, Norway**

_He dreamed about being in the ocean, sinking, watching deep aquamarine water swallow him. And above the water, where it was shaded a softer green, he saw flowers of red fire unfolding overhead._

_As he sunk deeper, his clothes started to fall off of his body and he found his limbs flailing in an attempt to make him swim upward. It became darker and darker until the only thing he could see was the black water that was eating him alive. After spinning around and holding his breath for what felt like a hundred years, he saw a bright yellow glow through his peripheral vision. He whipped around and his eyes widened when he saw Emma floating through the water with him._

_She wore a sunshine yellow dress with small white flowers sewn into it. Her tan skin glowed goldenly and her sun freckles were enhanced by the beaming bright smile on her lips. Her eyes were greener than anything he’d ever seen. As she swam closer to him, her wavy hair created a halo of light around her head. Her smile was sweet and calm. She placed her hand on his chest and looked at him with a soft expression. She leaned in, kissing his cheek and whispered his name._

__Mathias, _she said, her voice echoing through the empty space. He jumped against her electric touch and tried his best to respond._

 __Yes? _he replied, water filling his lungs._

 __I have to go. We’ll be together again in Belgium soon. Just you wait, _she said. She pulled back and winked at him one last time before dissolving from his grasp and causing an explosion of white light to burn his dream up, like fire burning a film._

…

He woke up to someone shaking his arm so hard that he would have cried out in pain. Upon opening his eyes, he saw Elizaveta.

It was dark and early in the morning. The black curtains had been thrown back to let in the gray light from outside and snow was drifting through the air. He groggily tried to push Elizaveta off but she protested, saying something that came out muffled. All he could hear was his name: _Mathias, Mathias, Mathias._

When he did finally sit up and stop Elizaveta’s incessant shaking, he grabbed her by her wrist and looked up at her with a hard stare. 

“What are you doing here?” he slurred unhappily. He didn’t want to see her for a while, especially after their last conversation. However, the frantic nature of her actions and the worried look on her face made him feel a pit in his stomach. 

He felt dizzy and tried to listen to her frantic words, but it seemed that English wasn’t coming to him this early in the morning. Mathias gripped his hair in his hands and squeezed his eyes shut. For some reason, his head was pounding. He felt like he was burning up. Elizaveta and her words swirled all around him like a bird chirping incessantly to be heard. 

“Where’s Lukas?” is what he was able to make out through the barrage of familiar noises. He blinked and looked up at her.

She looked wretched. Her hair was a knotty mess of half-curled hair falling over her shoulders, though she tried in vain to tuck it behind her ears. The clothes she wore were men’s: thick flannel pants and a chunky sweater that looked like something Lukas would wear. The sleeves were rolled up and sweat was shining on her forehead. His eyes fluttered a few times before he responded: “Work,” he said. “Or running errands. It’s...it’s early. He’s not here.”

“Mathias, we have to get him,” she replied, again grabbing his arm and trying to pull him to his feet. This time he let her haul him from the bed, ignoring the fact that he was shirtless and wearing his pants from the day before. She strode over to the drawers and threw a button down and a sweater at his chest. “We have to go _now_.”

Before he could even think up a response, she was back to her pointless chattering. Her words were being thrown around the dark room and sinking into the void quicker than Mathias could even translate them. They were sand falling through his fingers: _unreachable_. Even the look in her glazed over green eyes seemed to repeat this message to him. 

As she walked by him, he grabbed her forearm and pulled her back in his direction. At first, she tensed up and tried to push off his hand, but upon remembering who he was, she looked up at him with wide, green eyes full of fear. He stared at her, lost in his thoughts until the words he wanted to say started to hurt his throat. “What’s going on? Why are you here?”

Elizaveta gave a weak laugh and gripped his arm. “They’re here. Remember how I said the invasion was inevitable? I was right. I didn’t want to be right but I was.” She gestured towards the window, the gray light and glowing snow coming into the room and hitting both of their faces. “Go look.”

Mathias slowly released her, his lips suddenly feeling numb. He looked from the window to her and then back again. He felt his legs start to move, guiding him towards the window. His body felt light like it didn’t belong to him. As though moving from his lips, his neck, arms, and fingertips starting to buzz with numbness. Suddenly he was the window, pressing his palm against the bottom of it and watching the world outside. The pier was vacant, only two boats bobbing against the freezing water and flurries that settled on their wooden frames. However, in the near distance, there was something lurking. Through the mist of freezing air and pebbles sized snowflakes, he could just make out what looked like a flock of black geese skimming the ocean. They were set in a V-formation, the first one pulling the others along like a child beckoning someone to chase them. He exhaled against the glass. It became cloudy with hot mist. He turned back around to look Elizaveta, who was gripping her hands together tightly and staring at the floor.

“I have to get Lukas,” Mathias said in a quiet voice. “Then we have to get out of here.” 

Elizaveta glanced at him. “Go get him. I’ll get Emil and we’ll try to get to the station.”

Mathias thought of that station, gray and stony. He wondered if it was really still there. He wondered if he hadn’t dreamt it. He thought about the way Lukas’ cross necklace had glinted in his eyes. But before he could protest, Elizaveta was out the bedroom door, rushing across the hall to where Emil’s room was. 

He turned away and ran a hand through his hair. His eyes were drawn to the window but he knew that if he looked again his heart would start beating faster than he could manage. He could hear his father’s words bouncing around his head: _Staying here is…is like suicide!_

And then Emma: _I just can't stand it. I know being a neutral country won't be enough to keep them away._

And suddenly he was back to thinking about Belgium. Hell, if Norway was just about to be taken over, what was happening in Belgium? What was happening in the rest of Europe? The rest of the world? Mathias felt tension pulling his muscles so tight that he was sure he’d lose it any second.

Elizaveta rushed into the room, breathless, saying his name. “Mathias, where’s Emil?”

At this, Mathias turned to face her, a confused look on his face. “What do you mean?”

Elizaveta returned his stare with the same horrified look on her face. “He’s not in his room,” she started, walking towards him slowly and gripping her hand into a fist. “He’s not downstairs. Hell, I can’t even find the fucking cat. _Where is he?_ ”

“Elizaveta, I don’t know!” Mathias cried, anxiety causing his fingers to shake. He inhaled shakily and looked at her with scared eyes. She stared back, her face pale and her eyes glassy. 

Elizaveta sighed and gripped the fabric of her shirt tightly. “I’m going to find him,” she said in a controlled voice, though it was underlaced with deep fear. “You have to find Lukas. We can’t leave him here alone. We can’t stay here anymore.”

“How are we going to get out of here,” Mathias asked glancing behind himself to watch the oncoming ships. Outside, groups of people were starting to notice and pointed to the foggy horizon. He turned around quickly. “There’s not enough time.”

Elizaveta scoffed. “No shit, but would you rather be here when—when _they_ get here?” she protested, gesturing outside the window. People were moving around quickly and scurrying through the streets now. She shook her head, saying, “You and I both have a target on our heads. Getting found is not an option.”

Mathias nodded, rubbing his arm and thinking about the train station. How had they known him? What had he done? 

Elizaveta took one last look at him, apprehensive and scared. Fear was etched into all feature of her face. Fear turned her eyes light green, made her hair tangled, and turned her skin pale. She turned and left the room quickly, swinging out the doorway and rushing down the stairs faster than she could in any sundress of hers. 

Mathias was left in the room, standing in the dark, his cold fingertips brushing his bare torso in an attempt to grip something. He couldn’t find any shirt fabric so instead, he pulled his hair and walked to the window. 

He stood there, breath fogging up the glass and watching as the panic outside started to become obvious. There were groups of men pointing in different directions and shouting orders. In the distance, cars were starting and snow was still falling. The pier was vacant, the two boats bobbing in the water were still there. The water was calm. Had there not be shouting people and dark threatening boats on the horizon, Mathias might’ve considered this a peaceful day.

But there were people shouting and there were boats on the horizon. Mathias pressed a hand against the window and tried to remember if this is how he pictured invasion. He had always imagined chaos and bloodshed in the streets. He’d always envisioned screaming crowds and bombs going off. In a way, this was worse. This was quiet and simple like they were telling him to accept it already. _Accept the invasion_ , the boats seemed to say in a deceivingly soft whisper. _Don’t resist. There’s no point in resistance. Not when we’re knocking at your doorstep with guns and ships hidden behind our back._

Mathias gripped his hand into a fist and hit the window before turning away. He pulled on the button-down and fisherman sweater Elizaveta had thrown at him, buttoning it once before moving to the closet. He grabbed his worn Oxfords and stepped into them. He started to grab things in the room, such as a pair of clean clothes for Lukas and himself, a scarf and gloves, and a book on Lukas’ nightstand. He shoved them into a bag, slung it over his shoulder, then raced out the bedroom door, not bothering to look back. 

Something inside of him was telling him that there was no point in looking back anymore. 

…

Emil was reading letters again.

Most of them were penpal letters from Leon. They were written in broken English and sprinkled with smudges of ink from having crossed out misspellings. Leon’s letters became more and more smooth as the time went on, but Emil still saw a trend of Leon struggling with past perfect tense. Nevertheless, it was endearing. 

He didn’t notice the snowfall at first. He was enraptured by his own shaky handwriting. Everything he wrote over the past two years had been a mix of Icelandic and English. Personal letters were written in Icelandic out of fear that Lukas might somehow find them. Everything else was in English so that he’d practice writing it. When it started to snow, he was reading a personal letter in Icelandic that was expressing his fears over Lukas and his parents. They all sounded the same at this point.

_It’s been a month now. I’m started to worry because fall is slowly approaching and Lukas and I don’t have enough food left for another week. We haven't been shopping since mom and dad have left. Mom and dad said they’d be back in a week and four days._

_It’s been a month._

_Today Lukas is going out to the station and checking the mail again. Surely we’d be getting a letter by now, right? After he visits the station and the post office, Lukas said he’s going to try and find a job in the market. There are a few bait shops that he might be able to get one at, but I’m not sure if he’ll like them. Besides, he doesn’t like the fisherman lifestyle very much anyways._

_I’m glad I’ve finished school, but I don’t know how I can help now. Lukas said I shouldn’t worry. He said mom and dad will be back soon. He’s oddly optimistic about their quick return, but I can’t help but consider the worst._

The middle of August had been a terrifying time. He reread his words one more time, almost basking in the feeling they gave him. He still had hope back then. He still had hope that his parents would come back to him. It was better than the dread and sadness he felt now.

He set down the paper and picked up the next one. As Emil turned his head to glance outside, he caught sight of white snow spiraling downwards past the window. He was surprised, seeing as how nice the weather had been. Emil grabbed the blanket by his side and shrugged it over his shoulders. The next letter was from Leon from the late summer.

_Dear Emil,_

_It’s always hot here. I wish we had cooler summers, but it’s always hot._

_As I write this, there is sweat on my forehead and my shirtsleeves are rolled up and sticking to my skin. The electric fans we used to have don’t work anymore so we’ve resorted to paper fans instead._

_People are afraid. There are so many stories of violence across China. The Japanese have taken many villages in the east. Luckily, I am far away from all of the violence. I hope that it doesn’t come to Hong Kong._

_I know these stories of death and war are depressing, but I have nothing else to talk about. A few men from my village have been drafted to serve the British in the war in Europe. People have lost distant relatives and near relatives almost every day. I hear new stories about these people dying so often that I’ve no more place to put them anymore. They just hang around my head, a reminder that we’re in danger._

_But enough of these stories. I know you’ve probably heard them already. I can’t help but wonder how your parents' trip to Germany is going. Do you think they’ll like it?_

_If I were going to Germany, I’d be excited to be somewhere where it isn’t hot all the time. But then, I could also go to England and say the same thing._

_I’ll be honest, writing these letters has made me feel so much better about the war that’s started. I don’t think I’ve talked to anyone about my feelings as much as you. And you live on the other side of the world! It’s astonishing to think that no one here knows how truly scared I am, but in a town in Norway, there’s someone who knows exactly what I feel and think._

_Thank you for being that someone for me._

_Have a great rest of your summer,  
Leon_

Emil tried to imagine the sweltering heat Leon had written about. He was suffocating because of the heat. He was suffocating because of the danger. Emil knew that in Europe, countries had fallen like dominoes, but in China, it was a slow, painful invasion. And Leon was stuck in the most confusing part of it. A British colony in China caught in a war they were promised protection from. It seemed, however, the longer Leon and Emil had kept in touch the worse things were becoming. 

Emil peeled a sticky paper off of the back, recognizing the date and the chicken-scrawl that littered the pages. It was Leon's final letter. It looked so familiar, Emil offended himself when he didn’t recognize it at first. He smoothed the edges of the paper, ignoring the small rips and tears. 

In the early autumn, Leon had stopped responding altogether. Emil had become extremely worried. Not only was he not hearing from his own parents, but now Leon had disappeared from his life as well. The last letter was in messy English and all he talked about wanting to leave. Leon had talked about how his family was struggling now more than ever. His mother was desperately searching for work but with no success. The letter simply read:

_Dear Emil,_

_Finding the time to write while also trying to find a job is proving to be difficult. Whenever I pursue one, the other is completely forgotten. This has been the case for some time._

_My mother cannot find a job. She’s been leaving the house so often I’m not sure if she’s looking for a job or taking up a new position in the streets. _妓女_ , it’s called here. We don’t learn vulgar words like that in school, but I will explain. She meets men at night and they kiss. You understand._

_Without a father, it’s hard to live peacefully. He is somewhere far away with another woman, perhaps a few, having a life that he doesn’t deserve. Meanwhile, I’m here with my mother, struggling to find enough money for dinner._

_I will write back as soon as I find a job. Our correspondence has become my motivation to live so comfortably that I can send multiple letters a day. Perhaps, one day, I will have enough to even visit you. This isn’t goodbye forever. Just goodbye for now._

_Sincerely,  
Leon_

Some snowflakes fell through the window and landed on Emil's face, dotting his hair with water. It was hard to hear from Leon one day and then not hear from him for weeks to come. Waiting for letters was one thing, but waiting while knowing that he wouldn’t get anything was hurting him in places he didn’t know could hurt.

Especially when Leon was the only one who truly understood the pain. Even if they were hundreds of miles away, something about their struggles made it so they were together. 

Emil wished he had copies of his own writing. Mostly it was about Lukas and his parents as that was the only thing on his mind at the time. How could he think of anything else? 

He put the papers away, shutting them inside the notebook and tucking the notebook under the mattress he was on. He sat up on his knees and peered out the window, examining the dull gray skies. 

The fog was hanging over the fields in patches like flocks of white sheep. The broken glass in the window was frosted at the edges, and in the reflection of the frosted glass, he could see himself. His eyes were glossy, eyelashes sticking together in dark blond clumps, and his cheeks bright red due to the cold air. 

He exhaled and rubbed his eyes, unaware that he had teared up over the letters. Always, people had told him he resembled his mother. They both had the same bright, violet-blue eyes that looked as old as the sky itself. He remembered looking at his mom, touching her whitish-blond hair and wondering what was so beautiful inside her soul that it showed up purple in her eyes. 

The dead yellow field being covered in snow reminded him of his mother. Beautiful, but something so dark in between the loveliness.

He saw it in himself too. There was something missing when he looked in the broken piece of glass with the snowflakes falling in the background.

And whether or not it was his parents, his brother, or even Leon, he knew that he was missing a light. A light had been taken from his life and he didn’t know how to replace it. 

Emil laid his head down on the mattress, ignoring the flurries falling through the windows and landing beside his head.

Something inside him was telling him to run, get up, take action, or find his parents, but it was in these demands he found his missing piece: hope.

… 

Mathias was fucking overwhelmed.

People everywhere, running inside houses, tripping into alleyways, men forming groups and racing through the streets in packs were the cause of the anxiety and fear rising in his chest. It was the train station all over again, except this time, the ships on the horizon weren’t a dream.

He pushed past people, not saying sorry and not excusing himself. He kept his head on a swivel, searching and reaching out. Come on, Lukas, he thought. I know you’re here.

He was back at the market again. It was filled with people rushing through, ignoring anyone still working their small shops. A few old men were smoking cigars and talking loudly to each other over the people’s chatter. Mathias understood: “It’s the French national flag,” one of them said, exhaling smoke into the air. It smelled of burnt vanilla and old cotton. “They say the signal flag, ha! Never saw that one in the Navy.”

Mathias passed the old men without looking at them. He wedged his way in between a cart of vegetables, hitting his hip on the wood but continuing to push against the current of people. He stayed close to the right side of the street where he could walk underneath the overhangs of the carts to avoid snow in his eyes. It was better than shoving his way through the middle. 

A sharp crack sounded through the air, causing him to freeze in his tracks. His blood turned colder than the snow. 

He turned around to see a group of men in the standing at a dock, holding guns aimed at the oncoming ships. They stared at the ocean with hard, determined expressions. They looked ready to fight.

Mathias could see the ships were still far away, so why had they fired? He looked harder past the darting heads in his vision to see that one of the men had fired in the air.

Confusion caused him to turn away and to walk even faster. He knew the store that Lukas worked at was somewhere close by. He continued his walk against the grain of people and kept his eyes above the crowd, scanning the shops to his right.

For a second, he thought he could see a familiar head of light blond hair peeking out from a shop door when all of the sudden he collided into a women holding a young boy's hand. The boy fell to the ground and Mathias cursed before quickly helping the child up. The boy looked up at him with fearful brown eyes. His hands were small, nearly two-thirds smaller than Mathias'. This was especially evident when Mathias pulled him to his feet by his tiny wrists. 

"I'm so sorry," Mathias said, turning to the woman and gently handing the boy over to her. She took the boy's hand, patting his head before lifting her chin to look at Mathias.

At that moment, the woman was Emma. Her sandy blond hair was short and curled. Her skin was smooth and powdered with rouge. Her smile was warm.

But her eyes were blue.

It wasn't Emma. It was just a stranger, who wasn't smiling. In fact, she scowled at him before turning away and disappearing into the street again.

Mathias exhaled sharply, his chest feeling tighter than usual. He put a hand against his heart to feel its quick beats. It was as though his heart was trying to jump out of his chest and follow the woman down the street, just to make sure it truly wasn't Emma.

 _Focus_ , he told himself. He ignored his racing heart and short strained breaths and returned his gaze to the doorway of the shop. The inside lights were still on, however, the door had been closed. Mathias squeezed in between two carts and jogged under the store's overhang. He touched the wooden pillar on his right before pushing open the front door of the store.

Inside, the store was a bait shop. Fishing rods and bait in cans lined the shelves. A few sweaters hung in the back of the store and, of course, galoshes lined the far wall to his right. Mathias ran a hand through his hair, spinning around, trying to spot Lukas.

He strode to the small register and placed his hands on the counter. It was tanned, golden wood shined with glossy wax. He ran a finger over the wood and examined the dust that came off. The counter was littered with hand-written receipts and other small notes all in Norwegian. Some papers were ripped, others simply had a red line slashed through the words. He recognized one word: _betalt_. Paid. It was all very simple. Had he not been the only person in the store, maybe it'd feel more natural. But he was alone. 

He always seemed to be alone, anyway.

But behind him, a familiar voice spoke up: "Mathias?"

He turned around and saw Lukas standing there, looking confused and afraid. He wore one of Emil's printed sweaters; it was green with a white and tan pattern at the top near his neck. His blonde hair was disheveled. He looked younger than usual, even if his eyes looked as old as time itself.

Mathias took three long strides towards Lukas before throwing his arms around him and hugging him tightly. He breathed out, finally feeling relief. He wasn't alone; he wasn't the only person int he world, even if at times he felt like he was. Lukas retained his recognizable scent of lemongrass and cedarwood. The smell was intoxicating.

Mathias pulled back to look at him. Lukas was clearly surprised by his sudden outburst of affection. Just seeing his soft, perfectly smooth features and feeling his hug like a warm blanket around his shoulders made Mathias feel more at home than he'd ever been in his life. Not even Belgium compared to the feeling of Lukas' arms around his shoulders and his cheek pressed against his face.

"What are you doing here?" murmured Lukas, his voice unbearably soft.

Mathias kissed him quickly before letting go of him. "We have to go," he said, readjusting the bag on his back. 

"What's going on?" Lukas asked. He examined Mathias, taking in his obviously unkempt appearance. 

Mathias sighed and raked a hand through his hair. Taking Lukas' hand, he guided him to the front door of the store. Upon opening it, Mathias gestured to the group of men still standing by the pier. Through the side of a building, the pier and the water was visible. It blocked most of the oncoming ships from view; only three or four peeked out from behind the house. "You were right," Mathias stated, turning to look down at Lukas with a somber expression. "You said they would come. Here they are."

"Are you serious?" Lukas whispered. His eyes were wide, fearful. His voice sounded hollow, like the inside of an age-old tree that had fallen over centuries ago. He exhaled shakily, grabbing Mathias' sleeve and gripping the fabric so tight Mathias was sure it would rip. He was pale. 

"Lukas?" Mathias asked, worry seeping into his words. 

Lukas didn't respond, simply turning away from Mathias and the door. 

"Hey, come on, we're gonna be okay," Mathias tried to reason, gingerly resting his hands on Lukas' arms. He kept his back to Mathias, showing the rapid rise and fall of his chest. "We just have to leave. Elizaveta found me and told me that we can get out of here, but we have to go now—"

Lukas shook his head and whipped around so fast Mathias took a step back. "You should've left!" he said, his eyes glossy from the tears that were forming. "I should've let you leave! I should've let you get out of here!"

Mathias' eyebrows pinched together. "What? No—what are you talking about?"

Lukas sighed in distress, this time looking away from Mathias. "Elizaveta could've gotten you out of here, but I had to throw a fit and—and—God I'm so _selfish_ I—"

"I didn't stay here because you made me," Mathias cut him off. He laughed impatiently and tried to think of something else to say now that he had gotten Lukas' attention. "I mean, come _on_. I don't think you could've convinced me to _leave_.

Lukas was struggling for words. His mouth kept opening and closing and his eyes were still teary. "You said yourself Elizaveta offered to help you," he said.

"She helped me by talking me out of running away," Mathias replied sharply. He didn't mean direct his frustration at Lukas. "She showed me how stupid I was being. How inconsiderate I was acting." He sighed and closed his eyes, trying to envision words to say. He felt like he was trying to read a book: words were falling off the page and letters were flipped backward. Mathias wanted to rip out all of the illegible pages and start new. He couldn't think when all he could see was the same word playing over and over in his mind: _Lukas, Lukas, Lukas_. 

Mathias took a deep breath and started to speak again. "My parents were cowards. They were afraid to live in Belgium after what happened during the Great War, and maybe they were okay with ditching everything they'd built there during those years. Maybe they were okay with ditching the farm, the barn, the house, our neighbors and friends, and our church. I'm glad they found peace in that decision. But I didn't."

He paused to look at Lukas, to join their gazes. "I'm tired of living in fear like my parents did. I'm not leaving you behind. I'm not leaving Emil or Elizaveta behind. As far as I know, you're the only family I have." 

Lukas' face softened and his eyes were no longer teary. His hand was holding Mathias' arm, pressing this thumb into the fabric of his sweater and tracing circles there. He leaned forward, resting his forehead on Mathias' shoulder and shutting his eyes. For once, Lukas didn't seem to be struggling for a response. He was just quiet. 

It was almost peaceful.

A weight seemed to lift from Mathias' chest. He placed his hand on Lukas' lower back and pulled him closer, savoring his smell and the warmth he provided. They stood like that in the silence, ignoring the sounds outside and the fact that they were in a bait shop. Mathias could've been standing in the middle of the crowd outside kissing Lukas deeper and more passionately than he ever had before. Yet he wouldn't have been afraid. Those people couldn't keep them apart. The ships couldn't keep them apart. Not even the war could keep them apart. 

"I love you," Lukas said suddenly.

Mathias inhaled sharply and looked down at the blond boy leaning on his chest. His heart was beating so fast he was sure it would sprout wings and fly out of his chest.

"What did you say?"

Lukas pulled away, placing his hands on his shoulder and staring him dead in the eyes. 

"I love you, Mathias," he repeated. 

Mathias sighed, tears finally spilling over and falling on his face. He looked down and nodded, as though he was agreeing. In a way he was. He took Lukas hand in his, squeezing it tightly and smiling gently. 

"I love you too."

Lukas expression did not change. He looked stronger than he had before. Determined had driven out the fear in his eyes and he now looked ready to fight. He caressed Mathias' face before saying, "Let's get out of here. Together. Okay?"

And with that, they left the bait shop, running down the street through the diminishing crowds, holding hands the entire way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's been a minute since i've updated, so hi! i'm alive. i meant to post this chapter on may 18th, norway's bday, but life happened so :/  
> after i've finished my finals this will be updated again.  
> i've also done mass edits to the other chapters so if you wanna read those again without cringing at my horrible grammar or spelling mistakes, nows the time!  
> happy memorial day weekend to those who celebrate!
> 
> reviews and comments are much appreciated and really help me keep going. <3  
> much love, tate


	17. White Noise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **You can hide from the devil, but he'll always find you. —Allen Iverson**

**April 9th, 1940 — Kristiansand, Norway**  
14 Minutes After

Elizaveta was pacing outside the house, digging her nails into her palms so hard that she was sure she'd drawn blood. 

The sky was white. The snow was white. The froth from the sea hitting the wooden docks was white. Everywhere she looked, she was surrounded by whiteness. It was overwhelming her senses, making her feel trapped. She felt like she was back to being a ballerina, struggling to dance in perfect sync with a group of girls she didn't even speak the same language as. She raked a hand through her hair and tugged the ends that reached the bottom of her sore shoulder blades. 

Outside the house, there were four men posted on the dock, pointing their outdated rifles towards the sea. The ships were closer now, and Elizaveta could see men running around the docks frantically. There was a rumbling like thunder resounding throughout the area with no distinct source. 

She leaned against the small fence-like barrier around the porch and squinted past the men to try to spot Mathias and Lukas.

Elizaveta had not been able to find Emil. She had searched and searched like she was trying to find a reason to stop. But he was nowhere to be found. Not even Ursula seemed to know where he was. The British Shorthair had just paced around the doorway, rubbing her head against the edge of the door, pretending it was Emil. 

She wished it was Emil.

Although her vision had been going in and out of focus, in the distance she could see two sprinting figures, both with blond hair. Mathias and Lukas stuck out like sore thumbs among the lingering people who were retreating indoors. 

Lukas was ahead of Mathias, his lean body carrying him faster as he registered the house. Mathias only seemed to be focused on trying to keep up with him.

Elizaveta's breath hitched in her throat and she covered her mouth with her hand. She suddenly felt an immense pain in her chest, like nostalgia was kicking her in the ribs repeatedly. She counted her deep breaths and tried to regain her composure. 

Lukas rounded the corner and took to the steps leading up to the porch, his deep blue eyes wide with question. _Why are you alone?_ they seemed to ask her. _Why couldn't you find Emil?_

But instead of drilling her with questions, he leaned over the railing and took deep, heaving breaths from his sprint towards the house. He grimaced, as though every inhale was painful. 

Mathias pulled up behind him, less winded, but more questioning. He caught Elizaveta's gaze and raised an eyebrow as if to say _Where's Emil?_

"I couldn't find him," she said, her voice strained. She dug her nails into her skin and sighed. "I looked everywhere, he's really not here."

"Everywhere?" Mathias asked tiredly, running a hand through his hair. He took a step towards her, disappointment and anger visible in his eyes. They were sharp and blue, not quite like the ones she had come to know in Austria, but so light and summery that it was alarming to see them look hostile. "Define everywhere, Elizaveta."

"I mean everywhere, Mathias. I scoured the entire house, then I went to my house to see if he was there, then I came back here and looked on every dock, and then I checked this house _again_... I mean everywhere, Mathias," she protested tiredly, backing away from Mathias ever so slightly. He was getting closer to her than she could handle.

"Where the hell could he be?! It's not like someone just fucking _disappears_!" Mathias responded sharply. He made a frustrated noise and looked away from her for a moment. 

She knew he blamed her. He looked furious with the fact that she had failed them. How could he look down on her like this when he was the one who had offered to find Lukas in the most obvious place possible? Emil was like a ghost, fading in and out of existence, only appearing to walk through hallways or into kitchens when you least expected him to.

She felt a sudden anger arise in her chest and opened her mouth to shoot back at him. However, Lukas turned around and cut in.

"Stop it, Mathias. You're being irrational," he said putting a hand on Mathias' chest to stop his advance on Elizaveta. Mathias looked down at Lukas' hand, then to Lukas himself. One look from Lukas' hard, topaz blue eye left him shot down, though the scowl on his face remained. Lukas tiredly finished: "I know where he is."

Elizaveta and Mathias perked up. "Where?" they asked in unison, exchanging glares before turning back to Lukas.

Lukas sighed and ran a hand through his light blond hair. It was wet from the snow melting on it and stayed slicked back for a moment. "There's an old house he used to go to during the summertime. It has a water wheel and he found Ursula there. I bet we'll find him there."

"And if we don't?" Mathias asked, gripping the wooden railing and doing a doubletake to see the ships inching forward. 

The men on the docks were calling out to each other, asking _ready?_ Elizaveta didn't know too much Norwegian, but it didn't take a genius to understand they planned on fighting back. Any second she expected to the actual Norwegian army roll in with their outdated weaponry, ready to start the fruitless battle against possibly the strongest nation in Europe. She felt her breath catch again.

"We will," Lukas said in a reassuring tone. She wasn't sure if he was trying to reassure them or himself. Something about the way his words floated in the air for a minute made her wonder if they would hold true. "We will," he repeated with finality.

They all stood there in silence, just breathing, looking at their feet. Elizaveta's foot was tapping, trying to remember where the closest station was. Her mind kept screaming _Trondheim, Trondheim, Trondheim,_ but that was entirely too far away. Perhaps Oslo would be a better station. It was certainly accessible, but with news of the invasion rolling on faster than they could run or hitch a ride, she knew it would be overflowing with "criminals" like herself and Mathias. Her foot tapped anxiously.

"We should go now if we want to find him before... before _they_ get here," Mathias spoke up, pulling the bag onto his shoulders and glancing behind himself one more time to view the ships in the distance.

Lukas looked too, oddly calm at that moment. He inhaled slowly, watching the ships with a painful acceptance. They stood there for another minute. The wind was cold and threatened to freeze the tears forming in Lukas' eyes.

Elizaveta suddenly identified the feeling of nostalgia. It was Hungary. It was her old home, the studio, Marsca, her father, and Budapest in the winter. It was vineyards and the smell of the forest. She watched the light in Lukas' eyes fade out, wanting—no, _knowing_ —that she had to say something.

"Lukas, come on," Elizaveta said again, her voice soft and beckoning. He shook his head and turned away. She wondered what he was thinking.

Finally, Lukas jogged down the stairs, running out to the pier and approaching one of the men. The man held a gun in one hand, and his other hand over his eyes. Elizaveta and Mathias quickly followed suit, Elizaveta inhaling sharply as she examined the rifle. Lukas touched this stranger's arm as though he was in a daze. The man jumped ever so slightly and eyed Lukas sideways. He mumbled something Elizaveta didn't understand, probably asking what he wanted.

But then Lukas replied with something she did understand: "I have a cat in that house, right across the street," he said in Norwegian, pointing at the house. "Can you take her?"

"Where are you going?" the fisherman asked, his breath old and dry like he hadn't eaten anything but saltines for years. 

Lukas shrugged. "Don't know. Her name is Ursula. Please, she's good."

The fisherman scratched his chubby, stubbly chin and shrugged. "Fine."

Elizaveta had almost forgotten. _Ursula_. What would the beloved cat do during all of this? What music records would she step on, and what candles would she knock over without Lukas and Emil watching her?

Lukas nodded, turning away and hiding his face from both her and Mathias. He was quiet, lost in his mind; Elizaveta knew he wasn't okay.

"Lu—" she started.

"No," he interrupted her, holding a hand up and shielding his face. "We have to go." 

Before she could respond, he started to run down the street, like he was trying to disappear from their sight.

Mathias groaned and followed after Lukas, sprinting to catch up. Elizaveta did the same, trying to keep up. 

And they ran, the air cold and the cobblestone path slippery from the snow. But they were running and following Lukas through the storm. Elizaveta felt as though she was sprinting in slow motion, watching as the snow fell in front of her eyes. The groups of men—God, _fishermen_ —pointed and called out to each other. They took their first fire as Lukas, Mathias and her rounded a corner and nearly crashed into a group of children. She watched as Lukas pressed his hands to his face and kept his head down. She watched as Mathias observed the people intently, perhaps wondering if they were like him—an outsider, watching as the world around him fell apart. And Elizaveta watched as the white sky swallowed the town of Kristiansand, leaving it empty and occupied, leaving it covered in a protective blanket of snow. 

She was reminded of the cup of coffee sitting on her table. She thought of Ursula the cat, treading around the front door, no longer owned by Lukas and Emil. She felt the pain inside her lungs with every freezing breath of air she took, wishing she had stopped smoking two or three cigarettes a day. She tried to think of anything that would keep her mind off of the fact that Norway, her safe haven after everything she'd been through in Budapest, Vienna, and Paris, was being taken, just like her nightmares had predicted. 

And Elizaveta knew it was unlikely she'd be able to find another place like this. Nowhere in the world would keep her safe like Norway.

...

Lukas' head was full of music.

He heard every note reverberating through his mind whenever he looked a rock or stick that was on the dirt path to the rural outskirts of Kristiansand. He recalled being a child and making songs out of the various things he found on the path. He wished he had remembered to write down the songs he made for his violin. Now, all he could do was try to remember.

The music in Lukas' head was so loud that he didn't fully hear the roar of the incoming airplanes from above. He kept his head down and didn't stop running, even when Mathias called out to him, telling him to look up. 

He had read something about the planes when Poland was invaded. Reporters wrote that the invasion was so effective because of the forces on land being supported by the air force. They utilized the element of surprise, the newspaper had read. 

In Norway, not only were they using air force and the element of the surprise but ships too.

He figured it was only a matter of days before the entirety of the country was taken. It made him shiver.

For now, running on the path that led them through the fields of grass that were once green and inviting, Lukas felt cold and alone. Seeing the ships was almost like a confirmation that his parents were gone. It was like the ships were telling him to let go of the hope he had desperately tried to hold onto for all those months while waiting at a train station. Instead of his parents arriving him, the enemy was at his doorstep with a bouquet of flowers for a funeral and face that said: "It is what it is."

Lukas kept his eyes on the ground, ignoring the loud roar of airplanes overhead and pushing himself to go faster. He imagined that instead of airplanes dropping troops of men with guns, they were simply dropping snowflakes to the ground. It was much easier to imagine, especially considering the fact that they were in the north. He could imagine it snowing any day of the year. It was just another day.

After running for about another fifteen minutes, pushing through the freezing snow and ignoring Mathias's protests, Lukas suddenly stopped dead in his tracks. Mathias and Elizaveta skidded to stops behind him, Elizaveta dropping to her knees and leaning over, trying to catch her breath and groaning. 

Just ahead, the old water wheel house sat beside the frozen creek collecting snow on it's partially caved in roof. He exhaled shakily, his lungs sore, and ran a hand through his hair. 

"Lukas," Mathias said, his voice sharp. Lukas turned around to look at him.

He was knelt beside Elizaveta, holding her shoulders as she coughed and wheezed. Saliva and vomit dripped from her chin and the corners of her mouth. Pieces of hair fell into her face, which Mathias hastily gathered in his hands and held behind her head. His expression was stressed, pleading with Lukas to listen for a moment. "We have to stop for a second."

Lukas knew he was looking at Mathias and Elizaveta, but he didn't feel like he was truly seeing them. He was sure they were just the products of his overactive mind, desperately trying to understand invasion and the existence of Mathias and Elizaveta at the same time. He didn't register them, to say the least. As though in a trance, he nodded at Mathias before turning around and taking a few slow steps before booking it to the water wheel house by himself.

The snow made his face feel numb with coldness. The wind threw his hair off of its usual part and to the other side of his head. His feet carried him through patches of mud just to get to the front door of the old house. In the haze of snow and Mathias' incessant shouts he could only register as white noise, he opened the door so hard it hit the wall and caused plaster to fall to the ground.

He saw Emil sitting on the floor, eyes wide as he caught sight of the taller boy standing in the doorway. In his hands were papers with illegible writing on them. Emil clutched the papers tightly, his fingertips white. When the realization that it was Lukas at the door, his expression changed from fear to relief mixed with confusion. He stood up from the mattress, making sure to set the papers down, and met Lukas halfway across the room.

"Lu, what're you—" Emil managed to get out before he was cut off by Lukas pulling him into a tight, bone-crushing hug. Lukas was sure he'd burst into tears, but instead, he rested his chin on Emil's shoulder and breathed out quietly, not caring that he was leaving Emil in the dark. He felt as though he were watching himself move from a corner of the room. A fly on the wall. He wished he was a fly on the wall, separate from everything happening.

After a minute of silence, Emil pushed him away and looked over his shoulder. Lukas turned to see Mathias standing in the doorway with disheveled, wet hair and a concerned look on his face.

"Mathias?" Emil asked quietly. "Why is everyone here? What's going on?"

Lukas looked at a very confused Emil and then back to Mathias, who was gesturing out the door. "Lukas, what the hell are you doing? Help me get Elizaveta!"

Lukas sighed, glancing back at Emil once more before joining Mathias at the door. "I'll explain everything in a minute, I promise," Lukas said lingering int he doorway before jogging to where Mathias held a crouched over Elizaveta. 

Mathias sat beside her with his hand on her back, watching her dry heave over a patch of snow mixed with mud. Lukas remained silent, unsure of what he could do. Mathias looked up at him expectedly, as if he wanted Lukas to fix the situation right then and there. 

Lukas sighed shakily and tried the first words that came to his mind: "It's because of the cigarettes," he said.

And finally, something in Mathias seemed to snap. "No _shit_ , Lukas! Don't just stand there, help me!" His light blue eyes had turned gray, identical to the color of the sky overhead. 

"With what?! What am I supposed to do?!" he asked, pinching this wrist anxiously. He wanted to sink into the ground.

Mathias sighed frustratedly and started to help Elizaveta up, slinging her arm over his shoulder and ignoring her incoherent mumblings. "Get her other side," Mathias ordered with a scowl. Lukas rushed to take Elizaveta's other arm and prop it over his shoulder. He could hear some of what she was saying, reasonable things like, "I'm fine, put me down." And then the darker things like "They're coming, they're coming."

The mud caking Elizaveta's knees dripped onto the floor after the toes of her shoes hit the wooden frame of the door. Her flannel pants were ruined, to say the least, and there was vomit staining the front of her shirt. Lukas grimaced, not wanting to say anything but knowing that she would need new clothes. at some point. He didn't want to upset Mathias anymore than he already had. 

Emil again regarded the group with wide concerned eyes as they shuffled into the house like a group of beaten-down travelers. Emil was frozen in his place, even after Mathias said, "Emil, clear the mattress."

He stood there, completely quiet, in utter awe. 

"Emil, clear off the fucking mattress!" Mathias snapped, causing Emil to jump and gather his papers against his chest. He scurried out of the way just as Mathias and Lukas slowly dropped Elizaveta onto the mattress, a puff of dust spreading through the air. 

Lukas watched as Mathias walked quickly over to the door, shutting it and attempting to lock it before seeing it didn't have a knob on the inside. He cursed quietly in Danish before returning to Elizaveta. 

They all looked at her for a moment, not quite sure what to say or do. Finally, Mathias took initiative and started to pull his sweater off, leaving him wearing a plain white button-down soaked through with sweat and cold melted snow. He shook out the sweater and laid it next to Elizaveta. 

Then, sighing loudly and grimacing, he quickly took to taking Elizaveta's vomit-stained shirt off and tossing it to the side. Lukas decided to do the same, taking her shoes off one at a time but not looking away from Mathias. Mathias tried to avoid looking at Elizaveta as he slipped the sweater over her head and pulled it down the rest of her long, thin torso. She seemed to be barely conscious, but her hands gripped the sleeves of the sweater and she made a noise in between a gag and a groan. 

Lukas set her shoes to the side before moving back to sit next to Mathias. He eyed her muddy pants again. Then he turned to Mathias, who was looking down at the soaked shirt he wore. And just when Mathias returned his gaze with a hard, stressed expression, Emil spoke up and separated them once again. 

"Can one of you tell me what the _fuck_ is going on?"

...

Mathias wanted to start a fire.

He knew it wasn't smart for them to use the fireplace, but his soaked shirt was colder than the dilapidated stone house. Emil had suggested starting a fire, but that made Mathias even more against the idea. He was frustrated and stressed, and he couldn't seem to stop taking it out on Lukas and Emil. Elizaveta laid on the mattress, her breaths audible due to the fact that she was wheezing. Even seeing her exhausted state, he wanted a cigarette. 

They had seen paratroopers landing in the field just outside the windows, shouting at each other and waving as though they were just enjoying a leisurely stroll. They had been quiet during this time, holding their breath and hoping that the paratroopers would disappear into the tall grass so that Mathias, Lukas, and Emil weren't forced to disappear into the walls. 

After the group of paratroopers had left, Emil had burst into tears, sitting in the corner farthest from the window and pushing away Lukas' attempts to comfort him. He stayed there, gripped his hands together and nervously biting the collar of his sweater. Presently, in the darkness of the night, Emil's head was leaned against the stone wall and his mouth was ajar as he slept. 

Mathias was jealous of him. He wished he could sleep in below freezing temperatures.

They had also heard gunshots coming from the direction of the town. Mathias hoped it was that of the fishermen who had rallied together on the docks. In his mind, they still stood on the docks, guarding the small town against any harm that came their way. 

The only time Mathias had felt truly terrified, aside from hearing and seeing the paratroopers land in the field, was when he heard a louder than life explosion sound from Kristiansand. The explosion itself wasn't loud, but the sound of breaking stone and cement from a building made him wonder what was happening.

Presently, he and Lukas were the only ones awake, though they didn't speak. He didn't try to speak to Lukas either. Instead, he sat against the wall of the house, stealing glances at Lukas when he wasn't looking and trying to think of words to say. 

These days, Mathias couldn't think of words. All he knew how to do was speak first and think later. Sitting in the darkness, freezing from the winds coming in from the window against the opposite wall, he reflected on his words from earlier.

He had cursed. A lot. He sounded like his father when he did. His mother had always chided his father's sailor's mouth. She was dead when he needed her to chide him. 

He had yelled and nearly punched a wall out of frustration. There was no justifying his anger, but he needed to do something more than just yell. He wanted control. He wanted the Nazis out of the fucking country, and he wanted to sleep with Lukas in his arms. 

Lukas was as far out of his arms as he could be. He sat in the corner where the wall with the door and the wall with the window met. He fingered his silver necklace, twisting it around slowly and letting it shimmer in the moonlight. His face was somber, deep shadows hanging underneath his eyes and bottom lip. He stared at nothing, then outside the window, then at the floor, and then back to nothing. For someone who looked so tired, he moved restlessly. 

The cold air sweeping in reminded Mathias of Christmas when he was a child. There was nothing colder in the world.

_It had been freezing, but there was no snow. He got a model airplane, a slingshot for shooting rocks into the creek, and a stack of books. He had also gotten socks and a new coat, but he didn't care for those things. He was eight, and it was 1929, and his family was especially excited for this holiday season. After all, it was almost the turn of the decade._

_After a long night, he sat by the fire in his house, running the wheels of his airplane on the tasseled carpet. He pretended it was shooting into the sky, the firelight illuminating the underbelly of the plane. His parents talked softly in the kitchen, their incoherent whispers a reassurance that Mathias was safe and warm._

_He set the airplane down after a few minutes and rested his head against his arm, laying down and watching the flames until his eyes became sore and dry. Mathias sighed, and for the first time, he felt like he was missing something. Inside his soul, there was something missing, and he knew that no matter what he had to find it._

Mathias remembered crying as his parents carried him to bed, his mother blaming his tears on the how late it had become. But even then, he knew they weren't right. 

Staring at Lukas, shivering as Elizaveta and Emil slept, he knew he wanted to start a fire. 

He used the wall to stand up, stretching the pins and needles out of his legs whilst gaining the attention of Lukas. The Norwegian boy regarded him with question in his midnight blue eyes but said nothing. Mathias opened the bag of clothes he brought and threw a pair of gloves and a scarf at Lukas. He ignored the stare Lukas was giving him and instead focused on putting his own gloves on. 

Eventually, Lukas asked: "What are you doing?"

"Starting a fire," Mathias replied in a whisper. He peered over at Emil and Elizaveta, who were still sleeping, and then walked over to Lukas. He held out a hand to help him up but was met with a cold stare from the other boy.

"That tells me nothing," he whispered back. 

"Well, I need wood to start a fire," Mathias explained.

"Why should I come?" Lukas asked, not trying to be genuine but rather searching for a reason to move from his spot. Mathias sighed, his heart constricting ever so slightly. He brushed off the rejection.

"I wanna talk to you," he replied, trying to not sound desperate. "I just feel like we need to sort things out." A harsh breeze from the window hit Mathias' face and swept the hair out of his eyes. His hair hung low in his eyes now, due to the snow ruining his usual, spiked-up hairstyle.

Lukas rolled his eyes and dropped the cross from his hands. "I'm tired," he started, eyes dark. The realization about the selfish nature of his statement set in and urged him to speak again. "Emil and Elizaveta are asleep. Maybe we should just call it a day."

"I would _love_ to call it a day," Mathias began, trying to control his tone so as not to sound annoyed, "but my shirt is half frozen and I've been sitting on a concrete floor so long that the bottom half of my body is numb."

Lukas turned away and bit his lip. He seemed to be looking across the room at Emil, who was still sleeping with his head propped against the wall. Mathias looked from Emil and then back to Lukas. 

"He'll be fine, Lukas," Mathias whispered softly, trying to make eye contact with him. When Lukas didn't return his gaze, he crouched down, head lowered, holding back the urge to reach for his hand. Instead, he brushed the long blond strands of hair out of his face and gestured to Elizaveta. "He has Elizaveta. We'll only be gone for a few minutes, right outside the house. All I need is some grass and sticks."

"I know," Lukas replied quietly, looking at the floor like he was trying to ignore Mathias. 

They were silent, unable to think of words to say. Mathias had too many words on the tip of his tongue, but he knew that he couldn't just throw them at Lukas and expect results. He knew he couldn't snap his fingers and expect everything to be okay again. There was too much to say, everything muddled his mind, and words of persuasion evaded him when he needed them the most.

So instead of trying to say everything, he just said one thing. "Please?"

At this, Lukas looked up at him finally, and tilted his head, examining his face. Lukas' eyes were calm and steady as they took in Mathias' features; Mathias felt exposed. But he remained still and allowed Lukas to look at him because he knew that it was the least he could do after their day made in hell.

Eventually, Lukas held out his hand to Mathias, still looked at him intently. Mathias took his hand and pulled the shorter boy up, only stumbling back a step. But even a small step like that caused Lukas to fall into his arms even more, and suddenly Mathis had what he wanted: Lukas in his arms, looking up at him with eyes that held the universe. 

Lukas pulled away hesitantly before walking to the front door of the water wheel house. He opened it, glancing over his shoulder to make sure Mathias was following. Mathias pinched his wrist hard before following Lukas outside into the freezing night.

Mathias followed him towards the nearest tree. It was a smaller tree, only about four and a half meters tall. Nevertheless, it had long, skeletal branches that were dropping sticks by the second due to the harsh winds. Lukas knelt down beside the trunk of the tree, running his hand along the rough bark. Then he switched his focus to the fallen branches and sticks, picking them up quietly and stuffing them under his arm in a pile.

Watching Lukas work, Mathias decided to do the same. He walked around slowly, reaching down frequently to pick up sticks and branches. He kicked piles of snow away with his shoe and picked up the damp, yellow grass. _This won't work_ , he thought, stuffing the wet grass into his pocket. Hopefully, it would dry before they had to return to the house. Damp grass never helped start a fire.

And through all of the work, he still managed to stare at Lukas. He would bend over to pick up a stick all while watching Lukas count the plentiful pile of sticks he had accumulated. Mathias wondered if he was cold, and his suspicions were confirmed when he saw the other boy breathing into his gloved hands and rubbing them together. He exhaled quietly, noting the cloud of steam that arose from his lips. Even with Elizaveta in immense pain from the sprint, he yearned for a cigarette. He needed to feel something—nicotine, adrenaline, _something_ —coursing through his blood beside guilt and dread.

Upon yanking a low hanging branch from the tree, Mathias figured now was as good a time as any to speak up. 

"I'm sorry about earlier," he started, no longer whispering for fear of waking Elizaveta or Emil. "I took my stress and frustration out on you when I should've been helping you. It was... unbecoming, of me."

"I understand," Lukas responded gently. At this, Mathias turned to look at him instead of the branch. Lukas was standing up, leaning against the trunk of the tree and fiddling with the ends of the branches under his arm. "I'm... stressed too, I suppose."

Mathias looked down, kicking the toe of his foot into the snow. "Well, yeah, but... I shouldn't take that out on you and Emil. I shouldn't let the... the _things_ that happened today get to me."

"Mathias, I would be surprised if you weren't upset," Lukas said, meeting Mathias' eyes. Mathias felt his heart skip a beat. "I would be a bit suspicious if you weren't upset."

Mathias looked at his feet and kicked the toe of his shoe into the snow. "I know, Lukas. You were upset, Emil was upset, Elizaveta... she seemed pretty upset. But that doesn't justify my actions. I can't make excuses like that." His Oxfords were chipping at the toe and the more he kicked his foot into the ground, the more flecks of black paint came off and dotted the snow. He didn't care about chipping his shoes anymore. 

He heard Lukas moving towards him, snow crunching under his feet and his figure growing closer through Mathias' peripheral. He looked up just Lukas took his last step, leaving the Norwegian boy standing only centimeters away. His breath was hot, and it hit Mathias' collarbone, causing him to shiver. Lukas placed a hand on Mathias' shoulder tentatively. Then he slung his other arm around his neck and pressed his nose into the side of his neck, pulling him close. 

Mathias hesitated before wrapping his arms around Lukas' torso. He breathed Lukas' scent in and allowed it to calm him. Suddenly all of the weight on his shoulders disappeared. 

"Whatever you've done in the past," Lukas started in a gentle whisper, "whatever you've done today, and whatever you do in the future, just know: I've already forgiven you, Mathias." Wind swept pieces of Lukas' impossibly blonde hair into Mathias' face, and he shivered at the sheer power of his words. He felt Lukas everywhere; he made his hands buzz with weakness, he made his knees shake with the weight of Lukas' beauty, and he made his heart feel as though it was running a marathon with Lukas on the other side of the finish line.

Sometimes it ached, but it felt so oddly good to hurt.

When Mathias didn't respond, as he was dumbfounded for words, Lukas pulled back, examining his face with gentle, concerned eyes. He pressed his palm to Mathias' cheek. "You know I love you, right?"

Mathias let out a nervous laugh and leaned into his palm. "I know. _You_ know _I_ love you right?"

Lukas smiled softly, his pale skin glowing like that of a movie star. "Of course, you silly Dane."

Mathias put his fingers under Lukas' chin and pulled him forward, kissing him gently. He was reminded of one of his first nights in Norway when he fell asleep at the table and kissed Lukas' forehead in a state of deliriousness. Perhaps Lukas' blonde hair had made him think it was Emma, but seeing his deep blue eyes was a sure sign that Lukas was not the Belgian girl. And still, knowing that he had kissed Lukas, knowing that Lukas barely knew him, he had wanted to do it again and again. The memory came back at night and reminded him of the desperation he felt. 

Their moment together was cut short by a loud, distant shout. Lukas jumped, pulling back and looking in the direction from which the sound came. They stood there silently, listening as more sounds, loud talking, and laughter, came from the trees. 

Beyond the field, a small but dense forest laid. In the distance, Mathias could see a group of men emerging. They walked, or rather sauntered, into the field, wearing the same uniforms the paratroopers from earlier had worn. There were numerous straps flapping on their clothes and the way they walked caused them to hit their legs loudly. A few of them were pushing each other, laughing and talking. The others, gesturing around nonchalantly and talked in quieter voices. Some were happy, some seemed distressed. 

They weren't from Norway.

Beside Mathias, Lukas started to breathe deeply, inhaling and exhaling too quickly to be safe. Mathias looked from the paratroopers to Lukas. 

"Lu, calm down," he whispered, taking Lukas by the shoulders and pushing him behind the tree so they would stay out of sight. Lukas leaned against the tree, his pale hands gripping the bark. 

Mathias held Lukas's shoulders as he continued to hyperventilate and looked past the tree to keep an eye on the group of paratroopers. He turned back to Lukas and tried to think of something to say.

"It's okay, shh... they're going to pass the house. They're just walking by, they don't see us. Shh, just slow your breaths down. Slowly, in... and out... and in... and out..." Mathias cooed, rubbing Lukas' shoulder and trying to make eye contact with him. Lukas seemed to be gaining control of his breathing again, for his breaths were no longer harsh and fast. Still, Mathias was sure that if Lukas didn't calm down, they'd be found. His breathing was all too loud to go unheard.

Mathias looked behind the tree and saw that the group had stopped int he middle of the field, huddled together to look at something (perhaps a map.) Mathias sighed shakily and turned to Lukas.

"We're gonna run to the house," he whispered, unsure of what he was planning to do. He looked back to the paratroopers and watched as they chattered quietly amongst themselves. "We have to be fast, though. As soon as we get inside we're going to hide, okay?"

Lukas nodded, finally finding the strength to speak up. "What about Eliza and Emil?"

Mathias nodded reassuringly, "We'll get them up, and we'll all hide until they're gone."

Lukas nodded again and turned to look behind the tree. He held the end of his scarf, pressing it against his mouth and exhaling deeply into it. This time, both Mathias and Lukas looked behind themselves to watch the paratroopers. They still talked in the circle together, sometimes their voices loud enough for Mathias to hear. He recognized the German and thought of his own native language. He thought they sounded somewhat similar, especially hearing it now. He knew that as long as he could hear their silent talking, he and Lukas would be safe to run back to the house. 

Lukas looked up at him questioningly. Mathias held out a hand, waiting for the right moment to dash to the house. It was a matter of nerve, he knew this. But his nerves always seemed to get the best of him. _Not this time_ , he thought, determined. 

He turned to face the door of the house and held up his fingers, counting down 3, 2, 1.

They sprinted out from behind the tree, snow and sticks crunching under their feet. Mathias reached the door and swung it open, expecting Lukas to be following suit. But Lukas was on his knees in the snow, halfway between the tree and the house. He quickly stood up, his scarf falling off and ran the rest of the way to Mathias.

They shut the door just as one of the men spoke up louder than the rest. Mathias was sure they had been seen. 

"What happened?" he asked breathlessly, not whispering anymore.

"I-I tripped... on my scarf," Lukas said, his voice rising in panic. He started to breathe quickly again. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I'm an idiot."

"What's going on?" a tired voice asked from the corner of the room. They both turned to see Elizaveta sitting up, rubbing the exhaustion from her eyes and looking at the two boys expectedly. 

"We have to hide," Mathias said. "Lukas, wake up Emil. I'm going to look for somewhere we can all hide."

Mathias looked at the crumbling stairs. Then he walked to where a door was placed in the side of the stairs. He yanked the handle open and some pieces of asbestos from the ceiling crashed against the floor. 

Emil jumped up, surprised to see Lukas in front of him, and Mathias cursed, worried that Emil might cry again if he saw this new group of paratroopers. 

Mathias examined the inside of the staircase closet only to see that it had caved in. He cursed under his breath and turned to Lukas and Emil.

"Emil, we need to hide, where can we go?" Mathias rushed out, trying to control the panic in his voice. 

"Um, there's a b-basement," Emil stuttered, looking from Lukas to Mathias.

Elizaveta looked out the window, her gasp attracting Mathias' attention. "They're coming, Mathias."

"Where's the basement?!" Mathias asked frantically, pulling Emil up from his seat int he corner of the room. Emil quickly released himself from Mathias's grasp and walked to the corner of the room where Mathias had been sitting earlier. He knelt down, trying to pry up a floorboard. His small body strained, so Mathias knelt next to him and did the same. 

As he pulled, he saw a sheer, almost unnoticeable outline on the floor where he had been sitting. Dust on the ground hid the outline of the door. What he had assumed was a bad repair job to a floorboard had really once been a handle to open the basement. Now all that remained of the handle was two nails poking up through the floor. 

Elizaveta rushed over to join them, pulling on the corner of a floorboard with Emil. Finally, there was a crack and the door sprang open, rusted hinges and springs squeaking with joy. 

Mathias quickly pushed Emil down, ignoring his gasp of surprise. Then Elizaveta jumped down. Finally, Mathias took Lukas' hand and looked at him, before jumping into the dark basement and pulling Lukas down with him. 

Elizaveta shut the door and they waited for a few seconds before they heard the front door open up and footsteps cause the floor to creak above them.

...

Light from the window shone down onto their faces and outlined the numerous feet standing above them. 

Emil told himself he wouldn't cry. He knew Mathias would just get upset with him. He held his hand over his mouth, pressing his fingers into his skin and straining to see through the darkness. 

The basement smelled like mold and mildew. There were small puddles of water under his feet and the stone walls were freezing. He crouched so his head didn't hit the floorboards above.

Mathias and Lukas sat in a corner. Lukas sat in Mathias lap, and Mathias held his hand over Lukas' mouth, whispering soft sounding words into his ear. Lukas' chest was expanding and deflating rapidly.

He was taken from his thoughts by Elizaveta, who tapped his shoulder and gestured for him to follow her to the corner where Mathias and Lukas sat. 

The four of them sat together in the puddles, as far away as possible from the outlines of the feet that lingered by the doorway. 

One man spoke up, talking in a quiet and deep voice. Emil couldn't understand what they were saying. He leaned his head against the wall behind him and shut his eyes.

"He said he doesn't think there's anyone here," Elizaveta whispered so quietly Emil almost didn't hear her. He perked up to see that she was addressing Mathias, who nodded attentively at her translation. 

The deep-voiced man spoke again, Elizaveta chiming in with a translation almost immediately after he finished. "He's questioning one of the younger men. He wants to know exactly what he saw."

This time a younger sounding man spoke, his tone whiny and pleading. "He says he saw a young boy running into the house. The boy tripped and dropped this scarf, and the scarf is still warm."

At this, Lukas' breath hitched and Mathias held him close to his body. Lukas shut his eyes and buried his face into Mathias' chest. Elizaveta looked at Lukas with a concerned expression, not bothering to listen to the next string of sentences coming from upstairs. Emil nudged her and nodded for her to continue.

Her green eyes looked up as she thought about her words. "Um... okay... 'You're crazy, it's freezing to touch.' 'It wasn't when I picked it up.' ...Shit, um..."

Elizaveta perked up when a new voice joined the conversation. "'You're just upset about..’” Elizaveta trailed off, confusion contorting her face. “‘Him.’”

Upstairs, there was a sudden scuffle, and two pairs of feet were in front of each other. There was some shouting and Emil was sure he heard someone strike another person. He exhaled shakily and looked to Elizaveta, who shared his expression. 

They started talking again. “‘You’re the reason he died! You should’ve let him out first!’”

“‘It’s not my fault he wanted to wait for you. It’s his own fault he hung himself with the fucking parachute!’”

Elizaveta cringed at the words she whispered and embraced the silence that followed the harsh words. 

They spoke again, quieter this time. “He says he didn’t hang himself,” Elizaveta whispered. “He says he landed in a tree and the parachute choked him to death.”

Emil heard sniffling upstairs and something made of cloth was thrown to the floor. The front door was slammed and asbestos fell from the ceiling, some pieces landing in between the cracks in the floor and hitting Emil’s nose. The group of men in the house walked out together, Elizaveta not bothering to translate their passing words. 

The door shut and they left the water wheel house. 

The four of them stayed there like that for a while, sitting there in puddles of mold and freezing water. Mathias leaned his head against the wall and took his hand from Lukas’ mouth. Lukas leaned into Mathias and shut his eyes. 

Elizaveta pulled her knees to her chest and stared blankly into the darkness. She looked scared and confused. No longer did the aura of calm composure surround her. She touched her mouth with her fingers and sighed heavily.

And Emil just sat quietly, not sure if he should feel relieved like Mathias and his brother, or scared like Elizaveta. He felt tired and detached. He felt like he was dreaming. 

He rested his head against the wall and looked at the floorboards, hoping he wouldn’t be spending the rest of his life hiding underfoot. It was just too dark down there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for such a long wait! this chapter was hard to write.
> 
> this is actually similar to an experience my great-grandfather had. i asked him to retell it. obviously. somethings are different (setting, year, people—duh), but the conversation elizaveta translated was what my great-grandfather heard. 
> 
> i really hope you enjoyed!!! reviews and comments really help me keep going:) thanks so much for reading!!
> 
> much love,  
> tate

**Author's Note:**

> Putting this story back up because I've re-entered the Hell-talia fandom. Tatie is back!! Comments and reviews cost 0$ and help me to keep going!!


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